


The World's a Stage

by idleside



Series: Triplicity [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (Background Pureblood Politics), 69 (Sex Position), Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Aurors, Binge Drinking, Bisexual Female Character, Blow Jobs, Canon Divergence - Post-Hogwarts, Come Eating, Come Marking, Come Sharing, Come Shot, Complete, Cunnilingus, Dating, Deepthroating, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Doggy Style, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Facials, Female Solo, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Investigations, Kink Negotiation, Lesbian Sex, Multi, POV Multiple, Pansy Sandwich, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Porn With Plot, Powerful Harry, Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Relationship(s), Rimming, Rough Kissing, Sex Magic, Slice of Life, Sloppy Makeouts, Squirting, Strap-Ons, Threesome - F/F/M, Vaginal Fingering, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2020-09-25 23:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 78,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20380228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idleside/pseuds/idleside
Summary: After the post-"Draco and Ginny's Wedding" ignition of whatever it is going on with Daphne, Pansy, and Harry (See: "Best Behaviour"), each of the three has to navigate between their friends, the rest of the wizarding world (and its expectations placed on them), and each other.Much like any drama, there's going to be tears, laughter, sex, lies, and long conversations that should have happened before they did.





	1. Preshow

Harry

“Furthermore, there are some very interesting ways that magical beings are treated by the law in Romania, isn’t that right, Harry?”

Harry kept his firewhiskey pressed to his lips, buying himself the time he needed to come up with a response – sure, he knew a little about Romanian society, but not so much that he wanted to chime in to this conversation that was rapidly becoming A Thing.

“Er,” He began.

“Romania’s different than _Britain_,” Remus interjected, allowing Harry to return to nursing his drink, “and we can _definitely_ do better than taking inspiration from _Blood-suckers_.”

“Remus!” Hermione chastised. “First, that is a very offensive term! They prefer to be called Vampires, or ‘_Dragon-blooded’_ if you want to be polite. Secondly, while it is certainly not perfect, the Roman Court has centuries of reasonably peaceful coexistence between humans and other so-called magical beings, which has to be preferable to…”

Harry honestly stopped listening by this point. He loved Hermione, he truly did, but once she got started on one of the Things that had currently caught her attention, there was absolutely no stopping her, or even convincing her to change her mind. Even though she’d _learned _from the whole S.P.E.W. kerfuffle of their childhoods, the opinionated and strong-willed school girl of that time had grown up into a _fiercely _intelligent, deeply caring, and **incredibly **stubborn woman.

“Oi, Harry, need a refill?” George called out across the room, and Harry gladly took the opportunity to wander into the den, where the Weasley was sprawled out comfortably in a chair, a (rapidly-emptying) bottle of firewhiskey at his side.

“Cheers, mate,” Harry thanked him, clinking their glasses together. Tonks sat across from them, presumably also sheltering herself from the escalating debate on laws and regulations which Remus and Hermione were engaged in.

“Might as well talk shop over here, eh?” She joked, throwing her gaze over Harry’s shoulder at Hermione and her husband, who were now bringing out _documents _to support their arguments. Harry rolled his eyes, while he’d grown to appreciate the importance of research and even _learning_ as he’d grown older, he would never find himself fit for academia in the same way as the two at the dining table.

“Might as well,” he agreed, “got anything interesting for me?”

“Bugger all,” Tonks replied, taking a deep swig of her own beer, “not that you’ll hear me complaining, but you’ve done a bloody bang-up job at scaring off most of the more _interesting _cases.”

Harry allowed himself a hint of pride at that. While not a full-fledged Auror like Tonks, his contract work with them allowed him to exercise his ongoing drive to hunt down dark wizards and witches _without _getting himself mixed up in another scenario where sacrificing himself seemed like the best outcome.

“Shame,” Harry continued, “I wouldn’t mind the chance to have something to do other than attend weddings.”

“Heh,” Tonks snorted, “I’m sure you’ve been idle, just lazing about in your mansion until you have a chance to attends galas, that _definitely _sounds like you. What’bout your end?” She asked, slurring only slightly, “heard anything that the Aurors should know about?”

“Hm,” Harry answered, the information spilling from his lips as soon as it came to mind. “Pansy Parkinson approached me at Draco and Gin’s wedding, apparently she’s opening a clothing shop of some sort. Sounds like it’s on the up-and-up, but it’s Knockturn, y’might want to keep an eye on it just in case.”

“_Parkinson?” _George cried out, dramatically pressing the back of his hand to his head as if he were overcome by this word alone, “these _snakes_, they just keep sinking their fangs into you poor, innocent lions!”

Harry rolled his eyes again. “It’s not like _that_,” he lied, “I think she was just excited about her store, or something.”

“Ah, the foibles of youth,” George bemoaned, as he pantomimed being stabbed in the heart, “she’s a fit bird, I’ll give you as much, but I’d be too scared of her poisoning me! Now, if you wanna go for a snake, why not follow in ickle Ronnie’s footsteps and snag a Greengrass?”

“A ‘fit bird’, eh?” Harry replied, feeling a flush creeping up the back of his neck, “How y’figure Angie would take it if she heard about you ogling Slytherins?”

“Ang,” George answered, pronouncing Angelina’s name like “anj” - which she _hated -_ “was the one who pointed out Pansy’s dress at the wedding,” George continued, waggling his eyebrows lasciviously.

Harry just snorted in response, raising his glass towards George in a mocking toast.

“’sides,” George kept going, “I’m just concerned about my little ‘siblings’, you know, just wanna see you and ‘Mione find some nice people.”

“Don’t think you’ll have to worry about ‘mione for long,” Harry chuckled, before he winced at himself for engaging in this gossip. Although - thank _Merlin - _George dropped the idea of suggesting that Harry and Hermione get together after he’d been thoroughly excoriated for bringing it up once (Harry loved Hermione, and she loved him, but it was **_not _**that kind of love), he still had a frustrating insistence on suggesting possible suitors for each. Of course, unlike others who had been more serious about doing so, half of the reason George kept this joke up was because Harry’s frustrated reactions amused him, but if Harry had the shape of things right, Hermione wasn’t really on the market for a suitor.

She’d been out of town for Ginny and Draco’s wedding, after all, and was apparently _recently _up to date on the goings-on in the so-called “Roman Court” that oversaw magical society in Romania – and, unlike the divisions in the Muggle world, it counted Bulgaria among its territories. Harry smirked to himself. He liked Krum, and – crucially – Viktor had never once expressed any kind of _insecurity _over Hermione’s fierce intelligence.

“Aye,” Tonks began, apparently amused at George’s digression, “where is ‘anj’ tonight, anyways?”

“Oh, you know,” George waved his hand dismissively, “busy lady, ‘leesh has a game this weekend, gotta support the team, y’know.”

“Ah, and how _is_ Alicia?” Tonks inquired.

Harry rolled his eyes, exasperated at his friends. There had been a lot of whispered speculation that George, Angelina, _and_ Alicia were in some sort of relationship together, though nobody (at least, none of those who actually _cared _to gossip about it) had figured out if George was with Angelina who was with Alicia, or if George and Angelina sometimes dallied with Alicia, or if all three were with each other, or _what_. Harry, for his own part, didn’t care: if the three were happy with _whatever _arrangement existed, good for them.

“Oh, she’s good, she’s good,” George answered, unconcerned, “Katie, though, sounds like she’s been a bit lonely out in Scotland, you should go visit her, Harry.”

Harry’s ears flushed. He’d been involved with Katie _briefly, _but it was (as they had mutually agreed on while before they’d ever shagged) nothing resembling a _relationship_, and George bringing this up was surely meant to distract Tonks from his _own _juicy gossip.

“Er,” Harry answered, “right, yeah.”

“Harry!” Hermione’s voice called, which – at this point – he was grateful for: he’d actually rather get bogged down in political debate than discuss the inner workings of his love life. “Question for you!”

“Right,” Harry continued, rising from the lounge chair, and walking back to the dining table, not missing the chortles originating from George and Tonks alike.

“So,” Hermione began, her tone only _somewhat _clipped, “Remus and I were wondering what the mood is at the Wizengamot regarding werewolves, these days.”

Harry shrugged. “No clue.”

“What?” Hermione asked after the briefest of delays.

“Haven’t exactly been many trials lately,” Harry answered, “haven’t been involved in a while.”

“Har-_what_?” Hermione sputtered, blending his name into a second question, “trials? Harry, the Wizengamot isn’t _just_ about trials!”

“Oh,” he replied – this would make more sense of why they kept owling him about his _attendance_. “I kind of assumed…”

“It’s… it’s more like parliament, kind of,” Hermione continued – Harry winced, as he felt a _learning moment_ approaching from the tone of her voice, “the representatives of different Ministry branches and Noble Houses vote on a variety of wizarding laws. You’re the head of _two _Noble Houses, Harry, you have more votes than pretty much anyone else!”

“Ah,” Harry scratched his head, “I, er, didn’t really know about that.” He had a general idea about it, of course, but politics was a world that he had_ less_ than ‘no interest’ in getting involved with.

“Harry,” Remus interjected, “you really should at least attend the votes…”

_Great, _Harry thought, _now I get _two _lectures. _

_ Still better than “helpful” suggestions about my love life. _

* * *

The rest of the evening had passed _relatively_ painlessly – he’d made a half-hearted offer to try and attend more Wizengamot sessions to Hermione (he probably wouldn’t), and this had at least calmed her down enough that she managed to re-focus on the debate with Remus over the term “magical being” compared to “magic-natured person” (apparently a more “inclusive” means of referring to Werewolves, Vampires, and the like).

He still found himself sitting with a drink in his hand at Grimmauld Place, a frustrated kind of tension rattling around in his head. As if by magic – _heh _– he heard the enchanted notebook which Daphne, Pansy, and himself used to communicate _ping _with a cheerful sound, notifying him of a new message from one of the two.

_“Hey,” _The message – from Daphne – read, “_you fancy a drink?” _

_ “Absolutely,” _Harry scrawled his reply.

“_Excellent. My place.” _

_Well_, Harry thought, _that’s certainly _one_ way to salvage his mood. _He quickly checked himself in a mirror – still wearing his outfit from Remus’ little dinner party, which was probably smart enough (though he ditched the jumper he’d been wearing over his button-down), he exhaled heavily, trying to force some of his frustration out of his mind, replacing it with images of Daphne’s apartment, before apparating with a _crack_.

On arrival, he immediately took note of the cool air in Daphne’s apartment, a faint hint of fragrance lingering in the air.

“In here, Harry,” Daphne called, as he kicked his shoes off beside her doorway. Making his way to her bedroom, he was greeted with the pleasant sight of Daphne Greengrass sprawled over a _chaise longue_, a vibrantly green drink in one hand, slow wisps of smoke curling off a lit cigarette in the other, and what seemed like a silk robe of some sort draped over _her_.

“How’re you?” She drawled, the very vaguest hint of intoxication in her voice.

“Not terrible,” Harry answered, seating himself beside her. She idly extended her legs to fall over his lap, and just as idly his hand fell over her calf, his thumb running in small circles. “Dinner got a bit tense, I’m glad to get away, honestly.”  
“Oh?” She asked, wordlessly offering him her cigarette – menthol, and light – as she turned to dangle one of her legs against the floor, “the kind of tense a drink could help?”

“Hah,” Harry chuckled, “it just might.”

“Allow me,” She answered cheerfully, smoothly rising from her distinctly _lounging _position onto her feet with a grace that Harry could never duplicate. “Anything in particular behind this tension?” she asked as she strode from the room.

Harry – his gaze fixed firmly on her arse as she sashayed away – took a moment to respond. “Just some shite about the Wizengamot,” he spoke dismissively of the topic, “apparently I’m not doing my duty as a head of house.”

“Mm,” Daphne made a noise of understanding, as she returned to the room carrying a second vibrant green drink, which Harry noticed only _after_ his eyes traveled up her (spectacular) bare legs, over her hips, up her chest (which threatened to escape the confines of her silk robe), and lingered briefly on her lips. “How’s that?”

As she returned to sitting beside him – albeit upright, this time – Harry shrugged, and took a sip of the drink. _Something with absinthe_, he realized, not that he was particularly choosy at this juncture. “I haven’t been to the sessions in, well, ever,” he explained.

“So?” Daphne asked, her eyebrow quirking in a _particularly _attractive way. “It’s not like anything’s happened lately that your delegates can’t handle.”

Harry didn’t answer, just taking another sip of his drink, as his own eyebrows knitted together in confusion. _Delegates?_

“Harry,” Daphne continued, picking up on his consternation, “you know you can appoint someone to attend Wizengamot sessions in your name, right?”

He hadn’t, of course, but this certainly made things easier – if Hermione had such an interest in local politics, then perhaps she would enjoy being involved much more than _he _would.

“That’s a… good idea,” He admitted, stubbing out the cigarette, “not that I’m particularly interested in the whole pureblood politics thing.”

“Me neither,” Daphne answered, as she turned to face him, one of her legs draping over his lap, “still tense, though?”

“Mm,” Harry answered, putting his drink down and running a hand up the back of Daphne’s leg, “a little, I suppose.”

“Well,” Daphne smirked as she moved the rest of the way, pressing up against Harry, as he realized she wasn’t wearing _anything _under her robe, “I think I can help with that.”

That was an _excellent_ idea, he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, more from the Best Behaviour universe! 
> 
> This one is a sequel of sorts, but is going to take a bit of a different approach - a little bit more plot, but still fairly smut-heavy. I'm thinking that there will be more, shorter chapters in comparison to Best Behaviour.
> 
> Updates are pretty likely to be sporadic as certain things fall into place - I don't have a very strict outline to follow, but I have a general idea of where I'd like this to go even if it doesn't have a specific destination yet.


	2. Rehearsal (Daphne/Harry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Daphne work out some of their frustrations

Daphne

Daphne threw her sculpting tools to the bench, letting an exasperated sigh escape her lips.

Sure, it would be simple for her to reach for her wand, to transfigure the block of marble in front of her into the exact shape she was imagining, but that just felt like it went _against _her intent, somehow. She mused that perhaps this was why the magical world of Great Britain didn’t place much importance on artists: it wasn’t particularly impressive to be capable of transforming a stone into a new object entirely when most _children _could do so with magic.

Sighing once again, she fished out a cigarette from the pack that Pansy had left behind and lit it. Daphne didn’t consider herself a regular smoker, but ever since she’d started spending more time in the company of Pansy and Harry, she figured she might as well indulge herself now and then. Compared to muggles, it wasn’t like she was risking her health, anyways – another way that the magical world had an almost unfair advantage over its mundane counterpart.

Daphne knew _why _she was upset, but she wasn’t willing to admit to herself that her feelings were a bit stung. Pansy had been by earlier in the day, and the initially-flirtatious mood had rapidly soured when they had started getting into the topic of art. _It was almost stereotypically pretentious_, Daphne thought to herself, recalling how the argument had started over the admittedly-ridiculous stance of whether Art-with-a-capital-“a” was meant to inspire a _feeling_, or to communicate a _message_.

She even knew that this spat wasn’t exactly a _fight_, not that the whole “friends with benefits, and maybe collaborating on displaying an art piece” relationship was one that had an avenue for proper _fights_ – both Pansy and herself were stressed about things which had absolutely nothing to do with the other. Pansy, of course, was worried about the opening of _Serpentine_, her clothing shop where the potential display of one of Daphne’s pieces therein had provided the surface reason for her visit.

Daphne, meanwhile, was not so much _worried _as experiencing a general _unease_ which had only grown since she had last taken lunch with Astoria a few days ago: yet _another _reappearance of the subtle, yet distinctly _pushy _suggestions that Daphne start considering settling down with a nice pureblood wizard of some kind. Her sister had suggested, in particular, one Mr. Harry Potter - though of course Astoria had no idea that Daphne had just finished shagging said Lord Potter-Black alongside one Miss Parkinson.

She knew that Astoria genuinely meant well, and that her helpful suggestions would have probably been the same even if none of them had ever _heard _of wizarding society (“why don’t you get together with my husband’s best mate” wasn’t exactly _unreasonable_), but she still found her mood worsening and her vices increasing over the next days at the mere reminder of _fucking _pureblood society and its _bullshit_.

On the surface, Pansy was supposed to be meeting with her to discuss displaying “_drowning”_, one of Daphne’s paintings, at her shop when she had the grand opening. Below the surface, Daphne was hoping to get Pansy between her legs for long enough to forget all about the roles or expectations of a “proper pureblood lady” even as she consciously dismissed them.

Instead, an innocent comment from Pansy (“it seems kind of bleak”) had inspired Daphne to defend her painting (“finding rays of light while you’re drowning _is_ the feeling I wanted to get across”), which had led to – naturally – neither Slytherin woman being willing to back down from their own stance, which in turn led to Pansy storming off even though, objectively, they didn’t even _disagree_ with each other.

Daphne knew that Pansy and herself would probably hash it out in the near future (hopefully involving tongue-lashing of a very different sort), but this did nothing to alleviate her _present _frustration. Stubbing out the cigarette, Daphne shucked her clothes off as she made her way to her bath, hoping that a good, hot, soak would prove to be an acceptable substitute.

* * *

It hadn’t.

Daphne lay back, the cool burn of another menthol cigarette filling her lungs as she rubbed her legs together absentmindedly, as if that would reduce her frustration. She sipped on the _Green Fairy_ in her hand – a little hint of disinhibition potion granting it both its _neon _green colouring and an edge over the muggle equivalent of the drink – and perhaps due to this disinhibition, decided to resort to something she hadn’t in a while: a _booty call_, as she’d heard muggles in New York City say.

_“Hey,” _she wrote to Harry, “_you fancy a drink?” _

The reply came almost immediately, which made her suspect that Harry was likely in a similar kind of state: “_Absolutely_.”

After the most perfunctory review of her own appearance (not much of an “outfit”, really, simply wearing a kimono-styled robe and nothing else), she wrote her own hurried reply, _“Excellent. My place.” _She arranged herself carefully on her chaise longue, a drink in one hand, a lit cigarette in the other, her robe open _just _enough to reveal her legs up to mid-thigh without being _explicit_, cultivating an appearance of casual sensuality.

Daphne knew that she was, objectively, an attractive woman, but she’d always struggled to an extent with the subtler displays of _promoting _this attractiveness. Where Pansy practically _dripped_ with smoky, sinful sexuality, or someone like Luna Lovegood possessed an ethereal beauty that seemed effortless, Daphne didn’t quite know how to harmonize her so-called “ice queen” image with her distinctly _non_-icy desires.

As Harry appeared with the _crack_ of apparition in her entryway, she banished these momentary insecurities with a smirk. She was sure that Harry would reassure her or compliment her appearance if she made him aware of these thoughts (he was just like that), but right now she didn’t want _reassurance_ or _support_, she wanted to get _fucked_. 

“In here, Harry,” She called out, the words only slightly clumsy with the effect of drinks on her tongue. As he walked into the bedroom, she quickly appraised him – where he immediately passed muster – he wore a perfectly nice button up, dark grey slacks, and a vaguely distracted expression on his face. “How’re you?” she asked, hoping to bring his focus onto herself.

“Not terrible,” He answered, seating himself beside her. _Good_, she thought, as one of his hands immediately fell on her leg, running his thumb over her calf. She’d been – not _worried, _of course – somewhat _apprehensive _that he might not be as comfortable with intimacy if Pansy wasn’t also involved. “Dinner got a bit tense, I’m glad to get away, honestly.”

“Oh?” Daphne asked, leaning forward towards him, proffering her cigarette towards Harry, and only _coincidentally _breathing in the scent of his cologne as she did so. “The kind of tense a drink could help?”

“Hah,” Harry chuckled, “it just might.”

“Allow me,” She offered, rising from the chaise and allowing her leg to brush over his lap as she did so. Walking to the kitchen, she caught a glimpse of Harry staring at her arse in the reflection of a glass picture frame on the wall, and smirked as she entered the kitchen. “Anything in particular behind this tension?” she asked as began to mix up another _Green Fairy_. _Okay¸_ she thought, _maybe I’m a little smitten. Shut up, Astoria_, she debated with an imagined version of her sister.

“Just some shite about the Wizengamot,” Harry answered, a frustrated burr evident in his voice, “apparently I’m not doing my duty as a head of house.”

“Mm,” she answered, striding into her bedroom again, and noticing how Harry’s gaze crept up her body in equal measure with the heat beginning to pool in her belly, “how’s that?”

“I haven’t been to the sessions in, well, ever,” Harry answered, as Daphne trailed her fingers along his shoulder. This didn’t seem like a particularly trying situation, in her estimate.

“So?” She asked, watching Harry’s eyes flick from her chest to her eyes and back. “It’s not like anything’s happened lately that your delegates can’t handle.” Harry didn’t seem to have a response to this, instead bringing his drink to his lips and taking a distinctly _slow _sip from it.

_Of his more attractive traits_, Daphne thought, _the fact that he can actually pull off “brooding” is definitely one of them. _She often liked to view people’s tendencies through various metaphors involving water – her “ice queen” moniker wasn’t exactly inaccurate by this device, as she considered herself to maintain her emotions beneath the – perhaps – frosty surface, whereas someone like Pansy might be more like a waterfall, all turbulence and turmoil but no less deep for it. Though she wasn’t exactly privy to Harry’s inner thoughts, she’d gotten to know him well enough over the past years (and especially over the past few days) to recognize that, as cliché as the descriptor would be for most people, Harry might well be an _ocean: _his emotions swept over his surface as plain as day, certainly, but she suspected there was something of a _depth_ behind this particular sulk.

“Harry,” she continued, cutting through the silence – though she didn’t actually _enjoy _this aspect of her background, she could easily admit that she knew pureblood politics and the accompanying mechanisms better than most. “You know you can appoint someone to attend Wizengamot sessions in your name, right?”

“That’s a… good idea,” Harry answered, as he extinguished the cigarette, “not that I’m particularly interested in the whole pureblood politics thing.”

“Me neither,” She replied – _understatement of the year, that _\- turning to face him, and extending one of her legs over his lap, bringing their seating from “close” to “intimate. “Still tense, though?”

“Mm,” Harry said, the rough edge behind the utterance sending a little thrill up her spine, his hand that ran up the back of her leg capturing that thrill and multiplied it, “a little, I suppose.”

“Well,” Daphne breathed, shifting her weight so that she sat fully on his lap, pressing her body against his, “I think I can help with that.”

Their lips met immediately, Daphne rolling her hips against Harry as his hands slid under her robe, gripping her arse. She’d initially been surprised at the strength present in his calloused hands, as Harry didn’t _seem _like a particularly physically strong man, but she was perfectly content to correct her views on this matter. She suspected that he was more cautious with his strength than most would be, so the moan that escaped her lips when his grip _tightened _was partly to encourage this approach from him, and partly due to it being a genuine, unbidden reaction.

Her flingers fluttered up the front of his shirt, undoing buttons as they went, Harry showing his approval by pulling her against him, his own breath coming heavier and faster against her mouth as their tongues ran over each other. Harry’s skill at snogging was _another _pleasant surprise the former hero had been, apparently, hiding. _Speaking of hidden qualities_, she mused, as her fingers delicately traced the lines of one of his tattoos, his torso bared against her. Her robe had fallen open by this point, her breasts pressed firmly against his chest, as she pressed herself against Harry’s lap _needfully. _

Words weren’t required as she pulled back from him, her hands urging him forwards, to stand before her, as she rotated their position in an awkward, interconnected kind of dance so that he was backed into her bed. Pushing him into it, she shrugged her robe off entirely – _thoroughly _enjoying the hissed breath Harry drew in through his teeth – before running her palm over his rapidly-stiffening groin, pulling his belt open. Harry helped by shimmying out of his trousers and underwear alike, as she pushed him back against her headboard, seated so they faced each other, straddling his lap and taking his manhood into her hand.

Daphne usually enjoyed foreplay, sometimes even more than the race towards orgasm itself, but on _this _occasion, it would merely be a distraction from what she was seeking. Still kissing Harry, she lined him up against her pussy, then sat down firmly, taking his cock inside her with a breathy “_fuck_” as she voiced her inner thoughts. They went slowly, at first, each rocking their hips subtly against each other as she adjusted to the feel of him, gaining speed as she began to kiss him more messily, more _desperately. _

Daphne counted herself lucky that it was not overly difficult for her to reach orgasm, but the speed (and _strength_) that the first one came at would have surprised even her, were she actually keeping track of these things. She was more than content to lose herself in the moment, beginning to bounce up and down on top of Harry, who for his own part was _perfectly _happy to take the passive role in this position.

_Not that he’s idle_, she thought, in a warm haze, as he gripped her arse firmly, aiding her motions, latching on to one of her nipples with his mouth. Harry wasn’t the tallest wizard – she was very nearly the same height as him – but in this particular position, his less-than-gigantic height was a definite asset.

When Harry bucked his hips against her for the first time, meeting her downward motion with his own push upwards, it broke whatever restraint she had remaining, the pace and _vigor _of her motion increasing as they began to _fuck _in earnest, her bedroom filled with the sounds of their hips meeting and the moaned profanities escaping from her mouth.

Her _second_ orgasm made the first look weak in comparison, as she cried “fuck” once more, the intensity of her sex clutching around Harry’s cock enough to push him out of her entirely – an absence which she intended to immediately rectify. Quickly extricating her legs from their place around his torso, she turned over, basking in the low moan that came from Harry as she pushed her arse into the air. Daphne moaned in response as Harry – without hesitation – returned his hands to her arse, subtly spreading her open and pushing her hips forward as he realigned himself, then pushing back into her once more.

_Fuck_ was the only coherent word in her thoughts by this point, as she fell to her elbows, Harry pounding into her from behind, his cock hitting a pleasurable spot _deep _inside her. She babbled wordlessly at times, reaching out to grab hold of one of his hands placed against her bed, pushing her hips back against him insistently. Harry fell forwards, his torso pressing her into her bed, his hips slapping against her as he pistoned in and out, and she turned to take his mouth with her own, pushing her tongue against his as he loosed a rattling moan and came inside her.

As the pleasant afterglow faded, he rolled off of her, both of them lying upside-down on her bed.

“Mm,” She began, words still not _entirely _within her grasp, “that was nice.”

Harry smirked – a bit of cockiness that she decided she would _definitely _enjoy cultivating from him – and idly ran his fingertips against her spine.

“Y’can stay, if you want,” she offered – maybe it wasn’t the _best _idea to maintain this “friends with benefits” scenario, but at this point, she much preferred the idea of sleeping beside his solid form than without.

“Sounds nice,” Harry replied sleepily, rising to his knees as he re-oriented himself in her bed.

As Daphne – with legs which only _slightly _shook as she walked – went to her bathroom, she noticed that the notebook on one of her bedroom tables blinked with a little “PP” insignia, indicating a message from Pansy. Glancing back at Harry (who seemed to already be _well _on his way to sleep), she opened the notebook, reading the message:  
“So the opening date is set. Next Friday night. Are you free?”

Ah, the opening night of _Serpentine_. Six days away.

“I have plans for that night,” Daphne replied, smirking. _Six days is more than enough time to prepare. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back to smut!
> 
> Hopefully the formatting works better now - please comment if this is has display problems!


	3. Opening Night - Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pansy prepares for her shop's opening, where she receives an unexpected visitor, followed by another surprise

_Pansy_

_Saturday – Six days until opening_

_"I have plans for that night.” _

Pansy made a frustrated sound and threw her notepad against the opposing wall, huffing.

_Insufferable _bitch_, _she thought to herself, _she knows how important this is to me. So, we had a stupid argument, over a fucking _painting_. So what? _

Grimacing, she stormed outside of the space which – if everything went as planned – was due to become _Serpentine, _lighting a cigarette as she exited her future shop. She’d done enough for the night, and attempting to set up decorations and displays in _this _kind of mood was unlikely to be productive.

No, a strong drink and a decent night’s sleep would be more useful.

* * *

_Sunday – Five days until opening_

Pansy scowled over a cup of coffee, grimacing across the kitchen table at the flat that Blaise and her shared. The fitful rest she’d obtained had failed to improve her mood to any noticeable extent, and the way that Blaise and Michel – who had _thoroughly _failed to turn out to be one of Blaise’s typical one-night partners – were flitting around the kitchen only increased her frustration.

“Never seen you this chipper before, love,” Blaise spoke to her, which she acknowledged with a brief grunt before returning her lips to her coffee. “Things going that well at the shop?”

“Mrgh,” Pansy grunted again. “It’s going to be a fucking disaster, isn’t it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. A _disaster_,” Blaise drawled, “is what most witches are walking around wearing. They _desperately _need a shop like yours.”

“Yes,” Michel – unasked – interjected, “Ze English witches they are…” he flipped his hand dismissively, “_ordinary_”.

“Thanks, boys,” She muttered, thinking “_lovebirds”_ with an internal snort. “It doesn’t make me even more worried that it’s going to be _too _forward for the market, not at _all_.”

“Hush,” Michel interjected before – again, unasked – laying his hand over the back of Pansy’s. She looked to Blaise, glaring, but he only shrugged infuriatingly and smirked. “I am not inexperienced in these things,” Michel continued in his thick French accent, “I am _obliged_ to assist.”

_Fantastic, _Pansy thought, _more “help”. _

* * *

_Tuesday – Three days until opening_

Pansy tapped her foot, peering over the same displays that she’d spent the better part of the day organizing once again, certain that _something _was still missing.

As much as she was loath to admit, Michel and Blaise had actually been surprisingly _helpful_, Michel’s pretentious French sensibilities coming in handy to help her narrow down the key statement pieces to display, and Blaise’s ruthless eye for efficiency aiding her in setting up rows of more-ordinary robes and traditional witch apparel.

It was almost enough to leave her feeling _optimistic_, but Pansy wouldn’t be Pansy if she failed to account for each and every way that the evening could yet turn into disaster.

The guest list? _Small enough to appear exclusive, yet wide enough to bring attention. _Not that she’d turn away people who _didn’t _have invitations, barring a select number of particularly… contentious figures.

The décor? _Gothic enough to be modern, spooky enough to carry a vague hint of not-quite-Dark magic. _

The shop itself? _Deep enough in Knockturn Alley to be cheap as _sin_, far enough away from the actual slums to not scare customers away_.

The basics seemed to be covered, and the _details_ were ones that she had certainly spent enough time fussing over and micro-managing that they _had _to be sufficiently taken care of at this point. So what remained?

She’d removed the most risqué (if not actually _obscene_) pieces of apparel from the public display, there were changing rooms set up both on the shop floor and in the back room behind the counter (for particularly _important_ customers, should any actually show up), and the music selection and catering alike were in the – admittedly – capable hands of Michel.

_Ah_, she realized, noting a particular twinge of anxiety at the thought of “important customers”, _Daphne. _

She hadn’t spoken to the Ice Queen since Daphne had turned down her invite on Saturday evening, and was beginning to consider the _possibility_ that she might be somewhat, partially to blame for this sudden silence. It wasn’t as if they’d exactly been _close _friends in the past, but Pansy realized that she’d been assuming that Daphne would be in attendance at the opening: _you’d think that after going down on someone, they could do that much for you_.

Pansy begrudgingly decided that she’d extend an olive branch soon, even if she hadn’t really been _wrong_ about anything, it was still… _foolish _to sacrifice one of the more promising friends-with-benefits arrangements she’d stumbled across over a petty disagreement about art.

As far as the night itself? Pansy opened her enchanted notebook, penning a note to the _other_ promising friend-with-benefits she’d recently acquired:

_Harry_, she wrote, _You’re free Friday night? Late? _

The reply came more quickly than she expected: _Yeah, what’s up?_

_Opening night. _She wrote, while thinking _“obviously”,_ _I’ll require your company after it’s done. Around midnight._

_Oh, right, _Harry answered, _what did you have in mind?_

_If it goes well, _Pansy continued, _a lot of drinks, and shagging all night to celebrate. If it doesn’t, enough to drown my sorrows and shagging to take my mind off it. _

Smirking, she closed the notebook. Lining up plans for an afterparty _had_ improved her mood.

* * *

_Friday – opening night_

Pansy paced from one end of her shop to the other. It was just five minutes until the shop was due to open, and there was a distinct _absence _of any line-ups forming outside. Rationally, she knew that this was expecting too much, and that this night was meant to serve as the first promotional campaign for _Serpentine _more than something that would turn a huge profit on its own, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that _nobody_ was going to show up.

“Pans,” Blaise interrupted her growing sulk, “here.” He passed her a glass of prosecco, lifting his in a toast that was quickly joined by Michel. “To _Serpentine_ – on the first of many nights to come.”

Pansy muttered something that might have been a “thank you”, before draining her glass as if it were a shot. Deciding that it would be better to get it over with, she swished her wand in a quick pattern, activating the runes which would glow _“Serpentine” _in lime green on the outside of the building, a suitable imitation of the neon lighting that she wished she could use. Another flick unlocked the doors, and Pansy exhaled in a deep sigh: her shop was _officially _open for business.

It was a few minutes longer until the first customer appeared: a witch who Pansy didn’t know by name (A Yaxley relative by the look of her, if she had to guess), who Pansy nonetheless greeted with a measured dose of detached welcoming.

Her worries slowly began to decrease as one customer turned to three, then six, though none of the witches who walked through her open doors were figures of any public note, and several stayed just long enough to have a free glass of wine before leaving. Still, she had _customers_ in _her_ shop – Pansy had finally managed to make something of her _own _that hadn’t immediately and messily failed.

Shortly after, she found herself in conversation with a far-flung Carrow cousin – distant enough that they hadn’t been caught up in the Death Eaters, though not as fortunate as the twins had been to escape the post-war scorn entirely. She took note of a witch who she _didn’t _recognize enter the shop, before becoming recaptured in the Carrow woman’s idle compliments of “how nice it was to see a young Pureblood bouncing back”.

Across the shop, Pansy noticed the unknown witch stop in front of one of her most vibrant display pieces: a leather trench coat, slashed through with panels of shockingly green lace, styled with enormous silver buttons and epaulet adornments. If nothing else, she was intrigued, and this gave her a reasonable excuse to escape the Carrow’s mindless banter.

“Has something caught your eye, Lady…?” Pansy inquired.

“Ah, I do declare,” the witch announced, her voice loud, boisterous, and _badly _American-accented, “this here is one of the finest coats I ever did see.”

Pansy screwed her nose in a scowl, before forcing herself to drop the expression. The woman’s accent was _atrocious, _obviously an affectation - which would be obvious to anyone who had _ever _heard someone from the American South speak. Granted, among Pureblood or traditionalist Witches, that number was probably limited to _herself_.

“Yes, it’s one of my personal favourites,” Pansy continued, stepping closer to the garment, giving her an excuse to take the woman’s features in. Though she definitely didn’t recognize the witch, there was something vaguely familiar in her smirking features.

“Wotcher, Parkinson,” the strange witch whispered, as pieces fell into place immediately. _Auror Tonks, _Pansy thought, _of _fucking_ course_. She supposed that she should have anticipated a visit from the law, given Knockturn Alley’s less-than-stellar reputation in the not-so-distant past.

“_Auror _Tonks_,_” Pansy returned the whisper, making a show of opening the trench coat, as if she were showing how the lace panels wrapped and wound their way through the inside of the jacket, turning a garment that was nearly _oppressively _military into one much lighter and more feminine. “What a _pleasure _to see you.”

The ridiculously-named Nymphadora Tonks had been – briefly – one of Pansy’s parole officers following the end of the war, a state which thankfully hadn’t been maintained for long. Pansy supposed that she didn’t even dislike the _person_ that much, but her presence was a distinctly uncomfortable reminder of how she and people like her were viewed in the new Wizarding world.

“Darlin’,” Tonks returned to her poorly-faked accent, “I am simply _enamoured_ by this here jacket. You know, I was jes’ in the neighbourhood, and I felt like I should be a-stoppin’ by, but now I cannot even recall what brought me here, once I saw this!”

Pansy didn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes. “Of course, _madame,_” she drawled, “why don’t you come to the counter with me, and we can draw you up an order form?”

“I’d be _delighted,” _the disguised Auror replied.

At the counter, Pansy slammed the tome she used to take measurements and orders down with _perhaps _a bit more force than was truly necessary, the cool smile on her face one she forced herself to maintain.

“You don’t need to be here,” Pansy spoke cheerfully, “everything is by the books, the money is all my own, and the merchandise is barely even magical.”

“Yeah, I know,” Tonks replied, actually throwing Pansy off-track, “believe it or not, I’m actually here for personal reasons.” At Pansy’s quirked eyebrow, she continued: “I might be in disguise, but that’s more a favour to _you_ than anything, I don’t figure you’d want it _known _that you’ve got an Auror snooping around your shop. I’m not fucking with you; I love that coat.”

“You…” Pansy stuttered, “Really?” It was if a tension she hadn’t even realized she was holding was released. “I can take your measurements right now and I can give a discount or actually I can give you the coat for free” she started rambling, before Tonks quickly waved her hands around in a distinctly unsubtle “shut up” gesture.

“Won’t do me a lick of good to get measured in a disguise, Parkinson,” Tonks smirked – though not cruelly – as Pansy took a breath. “I’m also not a big fan of green. What I would absolutely _love_, though, is that same coat, pink lace instead of green, and dragonskin instead of leather.”

Pansy’s heart dropped at this request: “Ah,” she explained, sadly. “I’m not authorized to import dragonskin. I applied, got rejected. Can’t have former 'Potentially Dark Magic Users' getting their hands on enchantable material, eh?”

Tonks nodded sagely, before leaning over the counter conspiratorially.

“Turns out, I’m on pretty good terms with the licensing board. I’ll be in touch, we’ll handle the details out of the public eye, but I promise you I’m serious: I _want that coat._”

Pansy nodded, eagerly, barely believing this turn of events herself. Though Pansy herself might not have been the biggest fan of Auror Nymphadora Tonks, the fact was that she was the nearest thing to a _rock star_ among the Aurors (on a technicality, as Harry wasn’t _really_ an Auror himself), and if she was seen wearing _Serpentine _in public? It would be _amazing_ for her shop’s prospects.

“Speaking of which, looks like you’ve got some guests you should see to,” the disguised Auror said, nodding quickly and turning around (nearly tripping over her cloak in the doing) to walk away from the counter.

_Oh_, Pansy realized what Tonks meant.

At the doorway, just entering _Serpentine_, were three of the most influential women in modern Pureblood society: the recent headliner of the wedding of the year, Ginny _Malfoy_; the ever-popular Astoria Greengrass; and the rarely-seen and arguably reclusive Narcissa Black (once Malfoy).

Behind _them _stood a smiling and _stunning_ Daphne Greengrass.

_Oh. _

_Merlin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying a bit of a new approach with this chapter - I've been beating my head against what was going to be the mid-point in this chapter for too long, so I've decided to split it into two parts so that I can publish *something* in the mean time. 
> 
> I'm hoping once part two comes out I will return to a more frequent sporadic update schedule - there's definitely more to come yet.


	4. Opening Night - Part Two (Daphne/Pansy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pansy shows Daphne her appreciation for the surprise the Ice Queen organized

_“I have plans for that night.” _

_Right, _Pansy thought, _of _course _her plans were to actually show up here, leaving me thinking she wouldn’t. Fucking Slytherin. _

“Ladies!” She announced, cheerfully. “Welcome to _Serpentine! _I’m very pleased to see you could find the shop!”

_Not a surprise at all, right. _

She exchanged cheek kisses with Astoria, then Ginny… _Ginevra_, Narcissa, and then, of course, _Daphne_.

For what it was worth, the blonde looked _lethally_ _fashionable_ – her hair done up in an intricate braid, wearing a black pencil skirt and black camisole under a – _shockingly _– black dress robe. Pansy felt a brief moment of uncharacteristic insecurity, going over her own outfit in her mind – _long lace skirt, leather bustier, with a sheer dress shirt over top and a deepest-green velvet robe over the whole ensemble _– before realizing that Daphne was dressed to be an ideal _model _for clothing.

“It’s good to see you made it,” Pansy said, with just the vaguest hint of smoke in her voice.

“Of course,” Daphne smirked, “you didn’t think I’d miss this, did you?”

_Fucking Slytherin, _Pansy reiterated to herself.

“Narcissa, love, it’s so good to see you!” She announced, with genuine admiration. Narcissa had been affected worse than many by the war – well, among those who survived, of course – and by Pansy’s reckoning, this may very well have been her first public appearance (other than her son’s wedding) in months. The arrival of this quartet of pureblood women was a notable one, which was evidenced by the hushed whispers among the other customers, and if Daphne was responsible, then Pansy supposed that she owed the blonde _considerably_.

“Ginny, _darling_,” Blaise’s smooth voice interjected, “what a pleasure to see you! I hope you didn’t have a hard time finding us!”

“Not at all, Blaise,” the newest Malfoy replied, “Daph was very helpful getting us here!” She looked over to Pansy with this last statement, nodding slightly, as if to reinforce the reason for her attendance. _Draco’s been a bad influence, _Pansy smirked internally.

She supposed that this shouldn’t have been anywhere near as surprising as it was. Pansy already knew that Daphne and her sister spent a lot of time in each others’ company, and through Astoria, Daphne undoubtedly had a close acquaintance with Ronald Weasley. With how that particular family conducted themselves, Ginny and Draco must also be frequent guests at family functions, which therefore provided an avenue to Narcissa.

Pansy stopped just short of shaking her head to clear these thoughts – navigating the webs of family alliances and social obligations was a particularly Pureblood pursuit, and she had absolutely no intention of getting herself mixed up in _that _world again.

The most relevant details to _Pansy Parkinson _were that she had several Very Important Witches in her shop, and that Daphne had consciously left her to worry about being un-patronized despite _clearly _having arranged this.

“Miss Parkinson,” An unfamiliar voice cut in, “may I make a firecall?”

“Of course,” Pansy smoothly answered, turning to face the witch she didn’t recognize – a tag-along, most likely – and guiding her to the shop’s Floo. The appearance of her most recent customers would undoubtedly ignite the interest in _Serpentine’s _opening, and this witch likely wished to call her friends to inform them about who they could be _seen with_.

Returning to the aforementioned guests, Pansy wandered over to find Narcissa, who had split off to peruse the selection of dress robes.

“It _is _good to see you,” she spoke, more quietly.

“Likewise, Pansy,” Narcissa answered, “You’re well, I take it? This is… impressive.”

Pansy waved a hand dismissively. “It’s just clothes, still to be seen if it works or not.”

“Still,” Narcissa picked up a pair of lace gloves at the end of the display, turning them over in her hands. “It’s good to see a young witch like yourself making something of her _own_. Merlin knows that I never had the opportunity.”

Pansy nodded, understanding the underlying sentiment – though not public knowledge by _any _means, her time that she spent as Draco’s presumed betrothed had allowed her a rare insight into the former Lady Malfoy’s life, and the knowledge that Narcissa’s previous marriage was a distinctly unhappy one was a secret that Pansy would take to the grave if necessary.

“These are lovely,” Narcissa continued, turning the gloves over once again. “How much shall I transfer to you for them?”

Pansy clasped her hand over the back of Narcissa’s, briefly. “No charge. It has been too long since I’ve seen you, we should take tea one of these days.”

The older witch smiled, with only the smallest hint of sadness in it. “I’d like that.”

“Oh, Pansy,” Daphne interrupted, walking over with a dress – not one of the _most _daring pieces that Pansy stocked, but _very close _– in her hands. “I’d love to try this on! Where are your change rooms?”

“Right this way, darling,” Pansy answered, guiding Daphne behind the counter to the changing room she’d internally designated as the _VIP room_. Past the black-on-black curtains providing privacy, there was a moment of tension, stretched out until it became unbearable.

Pansy closed the distance between her and Daphne in a heartbeat, pressing into the blonde woman and snaking a hand around her neck.

“You said you had plans,” She hissed, though without venom.

“The surprise is half the fun, _lover_” Daphne gasped, though more out of surprise than due to the pressure on her throat.

Pansy realized several things very clearly in this instant: firstly, even though Daphne was a fair bit taller than her and likely stronger, Pansy had absolute control over her at this moment.

Secondly, by how her eyes had popped open and her breath came in shallow gasps, the blonde was riding a very, very thin edge between genuine _fear_ and _arousal_.

Thirdly, that Pansy herself had complete authority over how the next several seconds would affect their relationship for the foreseeable future. Were she to tighten her grip and express _anger_, the other witch would likely be too afraid of her to cross her or mislead her again, but it would spoil whatever the… _thing_ was that they had between them.

Were she instead to approach _delicately…_ well, that led to _delicious _outcomes.

“Slytherin bitch,” Pansy whispered against Daphne’s ear, at the same time as she loosened her hand around Daphne’s neck, trailing her nails delicately down her throat. Daphne _melted_ under her grasp, pressing more closely into Pansy, the slightest gasp escaping her lips. “You’re lucky I like surprises.” She took Daphne’s earlobe – adorned with a plain silver stud, she noted – between her teeth, releasing her bite to press a soft kiss under Daphne’s jaw.

“Pans,” Blaise – infuriatingly – interrupted, “Got a customer at the till!”

“Get changed,” Pansy murmured to Daphne, spinning to leave the other witch panting.

The customer at the till was merely purchasing one of the off-the-rack robes Pansy had available, which was _hardly _worthy of her attention when there was a gorgeous and _deceitful _witch waiting in a changing room. Frustratingly, Daphne strode past the counter – her fingertips barely brushing against Pansy’s arse as she went – showing off the dress she had donned to the rest of her party.

Even despite her more _carnal _reasons she was happy to see Daphne, Pansy could admit that it was nothing but to her benefit for the so-called Ice Queen to strut about wearing an original _Serpentine _– her long legs piping out from under the dress made it look daring, yet proper, and the way it clung to her torso was simultaneously _sinful _and professional.

“Daphne, darling,” Pansy drawled – in a friendly way, mind – striding past her. “You simply _must _try this piece,” she announced, selecting a green-and-silver skirt and blouse combination that Pansy was particularly proud of.

“Oh, that is _delightful,” _Daphne cheerfully squealed, taking the garments from her hand and striding past her again to the change room.

“Parkinson.” Ginny Weasley – no, _Malfoy _– interjected.

“A pleasure, Ginevra,” Pansy replied.

“I’m curious,” the redhead continued, “what _are _these?” Plucking at a pair of fitness trousers (the Muggles called them “yoga pants”).

“Those,” Pansy explained, “are for physical activity – they are charmed to keep you cool when it’s hot, warm when it’s cold, and to stretch in every direction.”

Looking almost _suspicious, _Ginny pulled at the seat of the pants – not that the lithe athlete had to worry about room _there_ – before lifting them to inspect more closely. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” she continued, “can I try them on?”

“Of course,” Pansy answered, “I have changing rooms back-“

“Pansy,” Daphne’s voice interrupted, “I need your help styling this.”

“-there,” Pansy continued. She saw Ginny’s eyes flick over her shoulder at – presumably – Daphne sticking her head out of the changing room, before the ginger’s gaze returned to Pansy’s own, all too knowingly.

“Ah, I see a room opened up,” Ginny interjected, “Ta,” striding off to the _public _change room.

Pansy whirled on her heels, returning behind the counter, to enter Daphne’s room once again. Inside, the blonde was – disappointingly – fully dressed, though looking _delightful _in the skirt which was too tight and too short on her frame, and the blouse which she’d left unbuttoned halfway to her navel.

This time, Pansy didn’t leave anything about her actions up for interpretation. When she pressed Daphne against the wall a second time, it was with her lips crushed against the blonde’s, her thigh pushed in between her legs.

Their tongues danced together, and Pansy suppressed a groan at the vaguest hint of menthol she tasted on Daphne. She pushed more closely between Daphne’s legs, feeling heat emanating from her sex despite the layers of clothing in between them.

“You are a _minx_,” Pansy whispered, when they broke from each other.

“Mm,” Daphne answered, “I suppose you’ll do something about it.”

“There you go,” Pansy announced loudly, maintaining the ruse, as she grabbed a handful of Daphne’s breast and squeezed. “That should fit better, now”.

Daphne smirked as she buttoned the blouse, Pansy pressing one more kiss – thankful that her lipstick was charmed to be smudge-proof – against her before she begrudgingly left the changing room.

The next dozens of minutes seemed to take hours to pass, yet they marked the most successful period of _Serpentine_’s brief lifespan, with several customers buying robes, accessories, and – in Ginny’s case – Pansy's _entire stock _of the charmed leggings that had apparently impressed the Quidditch player. “They’ll be an absolute hit with my team!”, the redhead announced.

Of course, Daphne managed to continue finding pieces to try on, her backlog of outfits growing to the point that, at midnight - closing time - she still had several different looks remaining in her change room.

Popping a bottle of champagne, Blaise made his assessment: “Love, that was _fucking killer_.”

“_Oui,” _Michel agreed excitedly, “The opening night, it was… _magnifique_.”

“Oh, babe,” Blaise hurriedly said, after draining his glass _suspiciously _quickly, “look at the time! We’d best be off!”

“But… ze customer,” Michel objected.

“Oh, Daph and Pans are old friends,” Blaise waved away the French boy’s concern, “I trust you can _handle _Daphne, can’t you?”

_Fuck off, Blaise, _Pansy thought, as she answered “Oh, certainly! You two have fun!”

In the time it took for the two men to disapparate – presumably, back to the flat she and Blaise shared, which Pansy realized was an unspoken suggestion _not _to return tonight – Pansy had poured another two glasses of champagne and hurriedly – though not _too _eagerly – returned to the changing room where Daphne was.

Inside, Daphne was half-undressed, wearing a silvery bra and a flowy, lacy black skirt that was one of Pansy’s particular favourites of her own stock.

With the absence of any other guests, Pansy didn’t have to maintain any false sense of propriety. For the third time, she crushed into Daphne, their tongues immediately dueling to seek entrance into each others' mouths, Pansy’s hand sliding slowly along Daphne’s thigh before finding its destination between her legs.

“_Drink,” _she ordered, passing a glass of champagne to Daphne, even as her fingers danced over the blonde’s (disappointingly) covered pussy. As Daphne’s throat bobbed, draining the goblet, Pansy leaned in to bite gently on the soft spot at the side of her neck, her fingers deftly pushing Daphne’s underwear to the side, tracing over the entrance of her slick and heated sex.

“I’m glad you came,” Pansy admitted, before pushing two fingers – a bit more roughly than was _necessary_, though not so harsh as to cause pain – inside Daphne.

“Ah-I’m,” Daphne began, her words lost as Pansy nipped at her earlobe, “I haven’t come _yet, _Parkinson,”

_Oh. **Oh**_. Pansy felt the heat between her own legs pool, a shiver running up her spine. Now _this _was an interesting development to their dynamic.

“_You will,” _She growled huskily, aggressively curling her fingers inside Daphne’s cunt, pushing her further into the wall, one of Daphne's legs rising to curl behind Pansy. Pansy’s ministrations continued, pulling towards herself with her two middle fingers, pressing against Daphne tight enough as to prevent the taller witch from doing anything but squirming around her thrusts.

Pansy pulled her fingers out of Daphne, pushing them into the blonde’s mouth without hesitation. Equally without hesitation, Daphne moaned, sucking on Pansy’s digits, her tongue tracing patterns around Pansy’s carefully-manicured, blunted nails.

“Fuck,” Pansy groaned, “you would look _brilliant _sucking cock.”

_Huh. _She realized, as she said the words. _I _did _have plans with Harry. _

The next thought she had was to realize the absurdity of her situation: knuckles deep inside the Slytherin Ice Queen, fantasizing about her and the Chosen Boy of Gryffindor together.

“You know,” Pansy continued, regaining control over the brief moment of confusion she felt, “I was going to see Harry tonight.”

“Mmmthat so?” Daphne slurred, as Pansy removed her fingers from the blonde’s talented mouth. “We shouldn’t keep him waiting, then.”

“He can wait a bit longer,” Pansy drawled, “there’s a few things I want you to wear tonight,_ lover.”_


	5. Diction (Daphne/Pansy/Harry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pansy arrives at Grimmauld Place after Serpentine's opening - with Daphne in tow

Harry

Harry glanced at the clock over his mantle – _a little after half past eleven – _before looking back to the various portfolios and files spread out over the table in front of him. He grumbled, beginning to sort the papers back into their source folders, sealing the files with a tap of his wand before sliding them into a drawer of his desk.

The Aurors had him looking into something that sure _felt _like busywork, but Harry supposed that he could see the benefit of it: it seemed that Mundungus (“Dung” was Harry’s preferred name for the man) Fletcher was up to his old tricks, dealing in various ill-gotten artifacts and trinkets. Even a few years after the end of the last war, a surprising amount of wealth (both in terms of physical items and galleons) was unaccounted for, among families who had fallen in along _both_ sides of the conflict.

Of course, one of said families included a member whose arrival Harry expected within the hour: the Parkinsons, while not exactly _incriminated_, seemed to have profited substantially from the Second Wizarding War. Harry had, on finding their names within his files, felt the briefest moment of paranoia that _this _was why Pansy had suddenly changed the “mutual antagonism with no real malice behind it” nature of their relationship to one with distinctly more _intimate _contact.

He flicked his eyes to the clock again, before chastising himself with another grumble. He _wasn’t_ excited, or nervous, or any of those _feelings_, he was simply making sure that he was ready for her arrival. In the years after Hogwarts, he would have been extremely hard-pressed to have called Pansy a “friend”, but in the last few weeks, he had to admit that he enjoyed her company more than he’d ever anticipated.

More than anything, it was Pansy’s surprising vulnerability which had helped Harry get past his own paranoid instincts (as if a ghostly voice screamed “constant vigilance” at him to this day). The message she’d sent earlier in the week wasn’t exactly a glimpse into her deepest thoughts or anything like that, but compared to her _meticulously _self-assured public image, the fact that she’d even considered that her clothing store might not succeed was a glimpse of her inner doubts, and her request to spend time with Harry after opening night (whether it was to celebrate or to drown her sorrows) actually surprised him.

He hadn’t heard from her yet tonight, which he _assumed _was a good thing – not that the thought of a night of undoubtedly rough and frustration-releasing sex was exactly off-putting to him, but he much preferred the idea of a night of _celebratory _shagging. Harry was briefly struck by how strange this would have seemed to him even a few years ago: waiting up at nearly midnight in order to rendezvous with the queen of Slytherin herself, Pansy Parkinson.

Then again, the idea of having a three-way with the _other _Slytherin royal lady, the so-called “Ice Queen”, was another idea that he’d only entertained on some particularly _contentious _nights by himself, before it had fallen together and become reality after Draco and Gin’s wedding. He wondered why Daphne wasn’t intended to be part of the evening’s activities – not that he’d _complain _about being limited to sleeping with one gorgeous witch instead of two, but he would have assumed that Daphne would be a helpful assistant in either celebratory or cathartic sex.

Harry poured himself a tall glass of whiskey, briefly detouring to the upper floors of Grimmauld place, going over his preparations strictly to make sure that he hadn’t left a file out or something, and _definitely _not because he was starting to pace around. His bed was made, his chandelier dimmed to a point that it would be intimate without being _romantic_, he’d prepared a selection of different liquors in his bar, and he, himself, was dressed nicely enough without seeming like he’d _preened_ for Pansy’s sake or anything.

_That_, he thought, _would be ridiculous, of course_, checking himself to ensure the cologne he’d sprayed an hour earlier was noticeable without being _noticeable_.

Running out of excuses, Harry eventually settled into a large chair in his lounge, his drink in hand, and the enchanted notepad that Pansy, Daphne and himself used to talk to each other sitting on the table beside him. Fortunately for Harry’s patience, he didn’t have to wait long before the notepad made a _“ping” _sound, indicating a new message.

“Coming over in five,” Pansy’s writing read. “If that still works?”

“Of course,” Harry replied, after counting out a short delay in crafting his response. Waving his hand, he idly dismissed his Floo wards.

Minutes later, as his Floo flared to life, Harry had a brief moment of panic (which was _definitely _why his heart was beating faster) as a second figure walked out behind Pansy, but he caught himself and stilled his hand from its lurch towards his wand as he recognized Daphne. _Guess that explains_ that _particular mystery, _he thought.

“Hey,” He greeted them, wishing that he’d said something more eloquent, “how was the opening?”

“_Howwwddy,” _Pansy drawled in what seemed like a _terrible _imitation of an American Southern accent, before she snorted a laugh as Daphne giggled. _Fuck_, Harry realized, _I’m in trouble, _as the corner of his mouth quirked into a grin.

“I think,” Daphne explained, “Pansy means to say hello. Thank you for having me, Harry! You have _quite _the home!”

“Oh, yeah,” Harry shrugged, “It’s alright.”

“It’s a fucking _mansion_,” Pansy chuckled, walking over to Harry and practically _falling _into his lap as she joined him in the chair. “The opening was _great_, in no small part thanks to the schemes of miss Ice Queen over there,” as Daphne laughed and mocked a curtsey, “and _also _thanks to the appearance of one of _your _friends, Mister Potter.”

“Oh?” Harry wasn’t sure who Pansy could mean – it would have been very unusual for Hermione to have made an appearance.

“Yes, Auror Tonks decided to show her face,” Pansy explained, “well, not _her _face, her face, but you know what I mean. She was pretending to be some American, just so she could buy a coat.”

“Er?” Harry started, interrupted as Pansy leaned up to him and kissed him. She pulled away almost immediately, giggling – _Pansy Parkinson, _giggling – and turning to face Daphne instead.

“I’m pretty sure that the chosen one here,” Pansy accentuated her statement with a wiggle of her arse directly against Harry’s lap, “let it slip to his friends that I was opening a store in Knockturn. It worked out, though.”

“Or,” Daphne interjected, “maybe she heard of one of the dozens of letters you sent?”

“Psh,” Pansy rejected this explanation with a wave of her hand, “I’m not blaming him, but saying that perhaps Harry deserves some… _thanks_.”

The surge of blood into both the back of Harry’s neck and below his belt was something that Pansy certainly noticed, but instead of resuming the kiss she’d planted on him, she instead chose to start rummaging in her purse, as Harry nervously took a gulp of whiskey.

“Here,” she said, passing him a bright blue potion in a tall, thin vial, “stamina potion.”

“I don’t think I’ll need it,” Harry began to protest, his pride stung the slightest amount.

“You will,” Pansy argued, interrupting him with another kiss, “I don’t care how strong and manly you think you are; you’re going to have _two _witches wearing you out tonight. Oh! Wearing! Daph!”

“Mhm,” Daphne acknowledged her, and Harry saw that she now stood beside his chair, failing to even notice her approach, he was so overwhelmed by Pansy’s immediate presence.

“Let’s get changed!” Pansy sprung from Harry’s lap excitedly, snatching her purse from the table. Harry couldn’t help but quirk an eyebrow in confusion, shrugging and draining the stamina potion before having another pull of his drink, hoping to catch up to the excited – if scattered – energy of the two witches in his home.

“Oh, you’ll see,” Daphne winked – a gesture so cliché that only someone as attractive as her could make it look as _good _as she did – before she and Pansy disappeared, giggling, into one of Harry’s bathrooms.

Harry fidgeted, scratching the back of his head, getting up to pour himself another drink. When he returned to his chair, he heard occasional voices and sounds of laughter from where the girls were – presumably – getting… changed into new outfits?

He didn’t quite understand.

When Pansy walked back into the lounge, he _did _understand.

While her outfit when she first arrived was one that Harry thought she looked quite good in, it was nothing compared to _this_. Her legs were balanced on top of what looked like _dangerously_ high stiletto heels, encased in fishnet stockings, leading up to a top that Harry supposed would be called something between a corset and a teddy – though Harry’s brain was decidedly less dedicated to terminology as much as openly gawking at Pansy’s tits, which were pressed together by the top that barely covered the outside of her breasts, leaving the center of her torso bare from her chin to very _nearly _her vagina.

“Mm, I’m glad you approve,” Pansy said with _far _too much smoke in her voice. Harry tried to come up with an equally clever response, instead finding his words caught in his throat as she walked past him to his bar, revealing that this _wonderful _garment (whatever it was called) dipped between her arse cheeks in a thong, over her hips at her waist, and otherwise left her back entirely bare.

“If that’s what you’re selling at your shop,” He answered, when he found _words _again, “I can see why tonight went well.”

“Oh, this?” Pansy asked, coquettishly. “No, I’ve actually owned these pieces before I started _Serpentine._” She genuinely _sashayed _as she made her way to him, perching atop the arm of the chair, swirling a martini glass in her hands. “It’s Daphne that’s going to be _modeling_ for us tonight, Harry.”

Oh. Right. Harry had – not that he’d _say _it, of course – actually forgotten momentarily that there was a _second_ unreasonably attractive woman preparing to go to bed with him tonight.

“Ah, er,” Harry was _truly _struggling, as Pansy ever-so-gently trailed one of her heels across his thigh. “thatso?”

“There’s a few things I wanted to see her wearing,” Pansy smirked, “and I think you’ll like seeing her in them too.”

“What was all that about, anyways?” Harry asked, regaining his senses briefly, “not that I’m complaining, of course, but I didn’t think she’d be joining us tonight.”

Pansy looked as if she considered frowning, then merely sipped her drink serenely. “Slytherin habits die hard,” she admitted, “I _may _have overreacted to a small disagreement.”

Any further questions in Harry’s mind lost priority to Daphne’s appearance: while Pansy’s outfit was _aggressively_ sexual, this one was _transgressive _– he recognized the style as “bondage straps” that showed up in the world of Punks among the muggles, but past that, Harry’s own knowledge of fashion began to hit a wall. What was clear is that, wherever this particular outfit was not festooned with belts and straps, it was very, _very _tight latex.

Daphne acted the part of the model with expert skill, strutting into the center of the lounge, doing a slow turn around so Harry could take in all the _excruciating _details of her apparel (including the fact that the way the latex delved between her arse cheeks revealed that she was obviously not wearing knickers), before turning to look over her shoulder at him.

“Well?”

“Its, er,” Harry swallowed, “belty. It has a lot of belts.”

“A bit impractical, I think,” Pansy continued, thoughtfully. Harry caught a smudge of lipstick against the rim of her glass as she lowered it, which kicked off a strange detail in his sometimes-analytical mind: Witches’ makeup was almost always charmed to be protected against smudging or smearing, which further implied that Pansy had applied Muggle lipstick for the _purpose _of smudging it, and _oh Merlin.._

“Next one, darling!” Pansy announced, smirking. Daphne returned the cat-like expression, and all Harry could do was sip his whiskey as he felt his ears heating up.

“A little too revealing for everyday wear,” Pansy explained to him, as she ran a finger along the side of his undoubtedly blushing ear and began to whisper as he repressed a pleasurable shudder, “but it would be a _blast _at the right kind of club, I think.”

“What club is _that_?” Harry wondered.

“Oh, you know,” Pansy took a sip of her drink as she left Harry hanging, “Goth clubs, Industrial, _sex clubs_.”

Daphne’s second appearance followed suspiciously quickly after her first – not that Harry objected to this use of magic, though he wondered at what game the two Slytherins were playing with him. While her first outfit was shockingly decadent, this one was almost _conventional: _a lot of black lace, to be sure, and tantalizing patches of bare skin revealed between her leggings and the bottom of the one-piece ensemble, but otherwise it seemed close to the lingerie that he’d seen her wearing once before.

“Thoughts?” Pansy interrupted his musing.

“It’s… nice?” Harry struggled over his words as Daphne cocked her hips at the pair, showing her arse outlined in lace, “hard to complain about lingerie.”

“That’s about what I expected,” Pansy continued, “Daph, love, I think we can move on from this one.” Daphne smiled, departing from the lounge once more without further comment. “Not exactly the most daring piece,” Pansy explained, “but I want to be able to sell _something _to those witches who think they’re risqué, but aren’t ready for the more _adventurous _options.”

“Besides,” she whispered huskily into Harry’s ear, her lips brushing against him, but pulling away as he turned towards her, “I think Daphne looks better wearing it than most others would, yeah?”

“What about this one?” Daphne announced, her return coming without Harry realizing.

_Merlin._

The first outfit had been _out there_, and the second had been almost _normal,_ but Harry realized at once why Pansy’s shop had been an initial success: this piece of clothing was distinctly _witchy_, Pansy’s eye for design clearly evident, but also distractingly sensual. Daphne had somehow found time to put on leather boots that rose to the middle of her thighs, and the body-suit that she wore was an absolute _marvel _of mesh and satin: a pentagram crossed over her front, obscuring her breasts and between her legs in the satin overlay, but the rest of her torso was clearly visible beneath the mesh. Completing her turn on the imaginary catwalk, Daphne smirked over her shoulder at him, as his eyes locked on to her spectacular arse, the seat of these clothes just _barely _sufficient to cover her.

“Yes,” Harry announced, not really caring to provide more detailed feedback. “I really like this one.”

Daphne giggled at that, walking towards him and Pansy, and casually taking Pansy’s glass from her hands to drink from it.

“This is my favourite too,” Daphne revealed, “and I think that we can all agree that you’re not really that interested in fashion, right, Harry?”

“Ah, not right now,” He answered, as Pansy snorted beside him.

“I know what will pique your interest,” Pansy challenged, “Daphne here has offered to put on a show that isn’t _entirely _about her outfit.”

“Oh?” Harry asked, as Daphne ran her hands down the front of his shirt, moving to kneel in front of him.

“Miss Parkinson,” Daphne said, as her hands brushed over Harry’s lap, “wants to see what I look like sucking cock.”

_Fuck._

“Well,” Harry choked out, “I suppose we shouldn’t keep her waiting, then?” Pansy laughed, a high and melodic sound that was – surprisingly – absent of any derision.

“Absolutely not,” Pansy drawled.

Daphne just smiled up at him from her placement kneeling between his legs, as he took stock of the fact that she, too, had changed her lipstick, before her hands brushed over his rapidly-stiffening cock and he decided to stop worrying about his place in whatever game was happening – if Daphne wanted to suck his cock for _Pansy’s _benefit, he was, frankly, all for it.

Faster than he could keep track of, Daphne unbuttoned his trousers, leaning in to press a brief kiss against the bottom of his abdomen, before she took the waistband of his pants between her teeth and pulled downwards, revealing his member. Harry groaned before she even touched him, clenching his teeth as Daphne extended her tongue to place a slow, leisurely lick up the underside of his cock, even as she fully divested him of his clothing from the waist down. She locked eyes with him as she first took him into her mouth, which caused _Pansy _to moan beside him.

“Faster,” Pansy breathed, her own voice hitching slightly.

Daphne, apparently, refused to listen, continuing her leisurely pace as she began to bob her head, her hands sliding up Harry’s thighs before one trailed to grip the base of his manhood, sliding up and down in time with the motions of her mouth. Harry glanced towards Pansy, who was staring at the display in front of her with _rapt _attention, before returning his gaze to the _definitely_ erotic sight of Daphne sucking him.

At the apex of one of her bobs, Daphne pulled off his cock with a _pop_, breathing heavily as she slowly stroked his member.

“And what of you, Mister Potter,” she asked, her voice edged with lust, “what do _you _like to see when a witch is sucking your cock?”

“Fuck,” Harry breathed, “this is great.”

“This is too slow,” Pansy muttered, sliding off the arm of the chair to sidle up beside Daphne, “I wanted a _show_, Greengrass.”

Daphne only smirked in reply, leaning forward to take Harry into her mouth, sliding down his length once more – except where her previous motions had been slow, along the top half of his member, her downward progress _this _time continued further than before, her lips closing around his cock very nearly at its base.

“Fuck, that’s more like it,” Pansy breathed, kneeling beside Daphne, as Harry _just _realized the implications of bedding two women at once. Sure enough, when Daphne withdrew Harry’s cock from her mouth, Pansy leaned in to lick along the side, causing Harry to groan in pleasure.

“Fuck,” he cried, when Daphne’s tongue joined Pansy’s – though the physical stimulation was less than her previous deep-throating, the _visual _stimulation was incredible. Pansy pulled his manhood away from Daphne, immediately closing her lips around his head, before beginning to bob up and down rapidly. Where Daphne’s pace had been languid, Pansy’s was _frantic, _and Harry began to understand why she’d insisted he take a stamina potion.

Daphne’s hand slid along the base of his cock to match Pansy’s motions as best as she could, while she looked up at him again.

“Is _this _something you like seeing, Harry?” Daphne inquired again, her voice falsely innocent, “two of the most fearsome Slytherin witches of your year between your legs?” Her voice dropped, taking on a distinctly sultry quality, “two Slytherin _sluts_ worshipping your cock?”

Harry groaned and jerked his hips forward slightly at this, the unexpected dirty talking causing an instant reaction, the first hints of a future climax beginning to send sparks up his spine. Pansy, apparently, shared this feeling, as she pulled off his cock, muttered “fuck”, and then pushed Daphne’s head back towards his member.

Pansy didn’t remain idle long, dipping her head lower to draw her tongue _excruciatingly _slowly over one of his balls, before closing her lips softly over it and gently sucking. Harry moaned – though he was far from _inexperienced_, this sensation was new to him, and he had the briefest thought that he didn’t know why he had managed to go this far in life _without _experiencing it before.

“_Merlin_, fuck,” He groaned, when Pansy pushed Daphne’s head further down his cock, an action that prompted an immediate response from all three parties: Daphne coughed, pulling back, a trail of drool hanging from her lip as she turned a _fiery _gaze towards Pansy, a quirked smile from the brunette, and an involuntary twitch from Harry.

The two witches in front of him smashed their lips against each other, and Harry began to realize why Pansy had changed her makeup – their lipsticks were smearing and smudging all over each other’s faces, the carefully-maintained looks that both had entered his home with giving way to messy, blasé, and _desperately horny _expressions.

“Miss Parkinson,” Daphne gasped, as Pansy nipped at her throat, multitasking to jack Harry’s cock without looking, “seems to have her own demands. I wonder if she can even back them up.”

_Oh, fuck._

Pansy, of course, immediately rose to the challenge, practically throwing her face against Harry’s cock, pushing down against his length. Harry watched, amazed, as half of his member disappeared into her mouth almost immediately, then another quarter, before Pansy stopped, her throat squeezing around his cock.

“You don’t have to-“ he started, not wanting her to feel _obligated _to push herself past her limits, but of course, she just looked up at him with eyes practically hazy from lust, a deep-throat induced tear trailing from one eye, before she bobbed her head up, then down aggressively, pushing herself even further towards his base.

“Oh, but she _does_,” Daphne drawled, planting a kiss against Pansy’s cheek, “we want to be _good _for you, Harry.”

Pansy made a noise that was half a moan, half muffled by the cock down her throat, before pushing herself even further, her nose pressing against Harry’s pubic bone.

“Fuck, Pans, fuck, fuck,” Harry groaned, incoherently.

“Are you going to reward us, Mister Potter?” Daphne drawled, as Pansy pulled off his cock, moaning. Each of the two witches now had a hand enclosed around his thoroughly slicked member, jacking him off with _intent_, “are you going to give these Slytherin _sluts _what they deserve? Are you going to cover us in your cum?”

Daphne’s dirty talk was enough to get Harry right to the precipice of his orgasm, but the sight of Daphne and Pansy pushing their faces against each other and opening their mouths, their tongues meeting at the very tip of his manhood, was enough to _blast _him into a powerful climax.

“Fuck!” He yelled, as his orgasm erupted – as Daphne had requested, shooting ropes of cum over the faces of the two witches before him, landing partly in their mouths, partly over their lips, and – in Daphne’s case – over one of her cheeks.

The _next _most erotic sight of the evening was when Pansy practically _attacked _Daphne, pinning her against the floor, actually _licking _her face to clean Harry’s cum off her. Still in a post-orgasmic haze, Harry took a moment to react as he saw Daphne and Pansy each reaching between the others’ legs, the snaps of buttons audible as each witch pulled the other’s outfit open to begin fingering each other _aggressively_.

The sight sent a surge of blood into his cock, which had begun to deflate, but now seemed to rally.

_Good call on that potion, _he thought, as he removed his shirt, eager to join the now-rutting witches on the floor of his lounge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pansy's outfit Harry was trying - and failing - to describe would basically just be a v-shaped teddy


	6. Full Front (Daphne/Pansy/Harry)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pure smut in this chapter, no plot to be found!

Daphne

Her head spun and her thoughts swam languidly through her mind as she was overwhelmed by the _ferocity_ of Pansy’s affections, the brunette claiming Daphne’s mouth as her own, plunging her tongue against Daphne’s own with wild abandon. Though Daphne knew that she wasn’t _drunk_, in this moment it felt almost like she was, her tongue heavy and her mouth wet after the combination of her attempts to deep-throat Harry and Pansy’s subsequent ministrations, the core of heat pooled between her legs threatening to become a _literal _pool at this rate.

Daphne was granted a brief reprieve as Pansy pulled away from her with a gasp, her own eyes dark with lust, a slight trail of saliva maintaining the connection between hers and Daphne’s mouths in a lewd display.

“Patience, you brute,” Pansy slurred, apparently just as _fuck-drunk _as Daphne was.

Harry’s response – though Daphne couldn’t see what he’d done to provoke Pansy – was a rumbling murmur that sent a whole new thrill shooting up Daphne’s spine. She felt one of his hands trail up her side, settling almost absent-mindedly on her breast, as he leaned into Pansy’s back, pressing her even more tightly against Daphne.

Daphne smirked as she leaned forward to nip at Pansy’s neck, being rewarded for her efforts with a breathy moan coming from above. While she had absolutely no complaints about the _first _time that the three of them had slept together, this occasion was already proving more promising, absent of the hesitations and moments of uncertainty that had marked their debut threesome.

The dirty talk she’d recently displayed was proof enough of that: if asked, she’d happily admit that it was new to her, but it had felt _right _after Pansy’s opening preludes in the changing room at her shop, and Daphne’s gamble had paid off _quite _well.

She heard the slap of skin on skin, and felt a moan ripple through Pansy’s throat under her lips. Pulling back from the woman’s neck, she saw Harry instantly move in to take advantage of the opportunity, pulling Pansy’s face into his, kissing her roughly. Glancing over Pansy’s shoulder, she saw one of Harry’s hands planted _firmly _on the brunette’s arse, explaining the slap she’d heard.

_Fuck, they look good together_, she luxuriated, rubbing her thighs together unconsciously, which also helped to remind Pansy (her hand, after all, was still wedged between Daphne’s legs) to resume her briefly-forgotten activities, her fingers questing to find a way under Daphne’s outfit and _into _her.

For all that the clothing Pansy had her wearing looked absolutely _sinful_, it was – unfortunately – not the most practical, the snap opening hanging half-undone, Pansy’s fingers serving more to run along the outside of the material than to find purchase inside, which of course only made Daphne even _more _desperate to be fulfilled.

Pansy pulled Harry’s face away from hers, one of her hands tangled in his hair.

“You _had _your turn, Potter,” she drawled – Daphne was beginning to notice that her two lovers slipped into the habit of calling each other by their last names when things were getting _competitive_, “it’s _mine_ now.”

“Mm,” Harry grunted, instead of replying. His actions spoke for him, as he pushed even more tightly against the pair underneath him, and Daphne felt a moan escape her own lips as she felt Harry’s hard cock press against the inside of her thigh. _Thrice-Damned outfit._

Wanting to hurry things along, Daphne shoved one of her hands between herself and Pansy, reaching for her sex. _Pansy’s_ outfit, of course, could just be easily pushed to the side, a fact that Daphne took immediate advantage of, sliding two of her fingers along the lips of Pansy’s _drenched_ pussy.

“Ah-“ Pansy breathed, her voice hitching as Daphne pushed her fingertips inside, “see, Daphne’s being good and following directions. Why don’t _you _be a good boy?”

“Never had much taste for following the rules, really,” Harry teased, reaching around Pansy to _roughly_ pull the sides of her teddy open, causing her breasts to spill forth and producing another moan from Daphne just from the sight alone. “Besides, I thought you liked the bad boys.”

“Right now,” Pansy’s voice stopped as Harry tweaked both of her nipples, and Daphne felt a shudder pass around her fingers. “I think I prefer _good girls_,” as she leaned down to kiss Daphne once again, thrusting her hips against the blonde’s hand.

Harry leaned over both of them, against Daphne’s ear.

“Bit of a smart arse, isn’t she?” He rasped, and Daphne was sure that gooseflesh had prickled up along her neck where his lips were in _such _close proximity. Pansy pulled away from her to silence Harry briefly by taking his bottom lip between her teeth, before lowering her head to Daphne’s other ear.

“Bit of a _cocky prick_, isn’t _he?_” she drawled, thrusting against Daphne once more, an action which had surely driven her apparently-smart arse into Harry’s groin, if his hissed intake of breath was any indicator.

“Ah, you _do _have a talented tongue,” Harry leaned towards her as if to kiss her, but instead ran his fingers through Pansy’s hair and tightened his grip, “I can think of better uses for it.”

“I wish I could say the same for yours,” Pansy sneered, even as Daphne saw a blush rising over Pansy’s chest, a flush of arousal that couldn’t be disguised. “Sadly, you’re wasting your efforts trying to outwit me, instead of being smart about it.”

Pansy stilled, briefly, as Daphne hooked her fingers inwards inside her cunt, loosing a shuddering breath as she recovered.

“After all, if you don’t like it, you can _kiss _my brilliant arse.” Pansy continued.

“Kinky,” Harry replied, “and why, pray tell, would I do that?”

“Becausssse,” Pansy hissed her reply, as Daphne felt a ripple of the witch’s pleasure roll over her fingers. “If you do, I’ll let you _fuck it _later.”

Daphne moaned loudly at this, surprising herself _and _the pair above her. She’d never actually explored that particular avenue of sex herself, but apparently the idea of Harry buggering Pansy was something she was _quite _willing to see.

“Harry,” Daphne rasped, “do it.”

Harry smirked at her, leaning down to kiss the back of Pansy’s neck loudly, but _Merlin _he continued kissing downwards, as Daphne pushed herself up onto her elbows to watch. As he neared Pansy’s arse, he slapped one of her cheeks, leaning in to trail his tongue along the curve of her other arse cheek, his green eyes locked on Daphne’s awestruck gaze the entire time.

Pansy and Daphne moaned in concert when Harry leaned forward, with no hesitation, to run his tongue _between _those very appealing cheeks.

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” Daphne stuttered, as _obscene _wet sounds became audible, Harry apparently more than happy to lend himself to this task with _gusto_.

“Daph,” Pansy whined, “keep going.”

_Oh, right_. Daphne idly curled her fingers inside Pansy, before she got an _idea_. Using her knees to push Pansy’s hips upwards (and even more into Harry’s face, which he responded to with a muffled moan), Daphne shuffled further under Pansy, placing herself underneath the brunette’s hips, gazing up at her dripping pussy.

Without warning, Daphne reached up to grip Pansy’s arse, pulling her hips back down onto her own face, while also spreading her wide for Harry to continue his own oral ministrations. She felt a kiss of rough stubble against her chin as she pressed her mouth into Pansy’s cunt, Harry’s chin bumping into hers at times as each of them dedicated themselves to thoroughly _devouring _Pansy, front and back.

“Holy… fucking _Morgana_,” Pansy swore, as Daphne felt her legs tremble around her head. “Fuck... don’t fucking stop.”

Daphne was _quite _sure that neither her or Harry intended to stop. Harry, bless him, reached between her own legs with a free hand, and with a _snap_ pulled the bottom of her outfit open, his fingers _finally _giving Daphne’s sex the attention that she’d been craving. When she moaned, the sound thoroughly muted by Pansy’s pussy, the vibration gave the dominant Slytherin the stimulation she needed to sail over the edge of her climax, as she actually _screamed_ in pleasure as her legs spasmed.

“Fuck… _incredible._” Pansy groaned, crawling forward and falling onto her side bonelessly. Harry leaned forward, pushing his fingers deeper into Daphne, his hair even more unruly than usual.

“Harryyyy,” Daphne whined, as she felt herself twitch, “how does she _taste_?”

He smirked, leaning his face into hers, pushing his tongue into her mouth. While Daphne knew that Pansy’s hygiene was beyond impeccable, the _raunchiness _of the act was nonetheless driving her absolutely wild.

“You’ll have to try for yourself,” He whispered, pulling away from her. _Fuck, I just might_.

Pansy made a sound of mumbled contentment, turning to kneel beside Daphne, leaning down to press a kiss of her own to the blonde’s lips.

“Utterly fucking brilliant,” She reviewed.

Daphne smirked, reaching down to grab Harry’s wrist, putting a brief stop to his ministrations despite how pleasurable it was for her.

“I feel like a drink,” She announced, pulling herself up to her knees, “why don’t you take a seat, Harry, since you’re such a generous host after all.”

Whatever protest Harry was beginning to formulate died on his lips as Daphne practically hauled him to his feet, directing him back into the chair where their evening had begun, pushing him into it with perhaps a bit more enthusiasm than was necessary. She made sure to trail her hand over his still-mostly-hard manhood as she turned to Pansy, continuing her announcement. “Miss Parkinson, tonight is _your _celebration, if I recall, you also sit back, I’ll fix us something.” Pansy nodded, allowing Daphne to guide her to her feet and to be planted firmly on Harry’s lap. _Now that’s a brilliant sight_, Daphne thought, looking at the flustered Pansy collapsed against the smirking Harry, her breasts still heaving under the breaths she was taking, a sight which Harry surely appreciated given the twitch Daphne saw his member make.

As she turned to walk to Harry’s bar, she divested herself of the mesh-and-satin number that Pansy had dressed her in (and smiled when she heard matching pleasurable gasps behind her), the night air kissing cool against her skin. She didn’t fuss too long when deciding which drink to select for the three of them, reaching for a bottle of cherry-infused firewhiskey and pulling the cork out with her teeth as she sauntered back to the chair.

Unsurprisingly, the seated pair were already getting handsy with each other (_heh, _she thought, _“Hansy”_ _would be a cute name for them_), which Daphne didn’t quite _interrupt_, but made a show out of taking a swig from the bottle as she settled herself over Harry’s legs, facing Pansy. She allowed some of the liquor to trickle from her lips, down her breasts, and was _delighted _when Pansy immediately took the hint, leaning forwards to lick and nuzzle at her chest. Passing the bottle to Harry, Daphne pulled Pansy’s face to hers, languidly snogging the other witch in a cherry-whiskey flavoured duel of tongues.

Pansy practically _purred _against her as Daphne felt Harry reach for Pansy’s tits, tweaking her pierced nipples, the action also serving to brush his hands over Daphne’s breasts. He passed the bottle to Pansy, as he leaned over her shoulder, replacing Pansy’s lips with his own in a kiss with Daphne.

_We’re pretty good at this,_ she thought, amused. When Pansy placed the bottle of firewhiskey on the table, she didn’t take long to join Harry in lavishing Daphne with attention, nipping and sucking at her neck as Harry took care of Daphne’s mouth. Daphne moaned into Harry, leaning forward to press Pansy between their bodies, her hands roaming down the brunette’s front.

Both her hands trailed down between Pansy’s legs, but only one lingered on the witch’s pussy, the other traveling further south to snake under her and grasp Harry’s member. Daphne gave Harry a couple perfunctory strokes, tilting her hips forwards as she angled him upwards, and releasing a contented moan as she slid him inside herself.

“Why do you get to be first?” Pansy teased, though the lustful twinkle in her eyes clearly showed that she didn’t mind.

“Harry,” Daphne ordered, ignoring the brunette, “let’s not forget about the guest of honour, shall we?”

“Quite,” Harry agreed, smirking, as Daphne hooked her fingers up into Pansy’s pussy once more, Harry pulling the petite brunette against himself with a tight grip over her breasts. Daphne leaned to snog Pansy again, and she felt Harry’s breath beside her as he began to nibble and lick at the outside of Pansy’s ear.

She began to roll her hips, thoroughly enjoying how Harry was stretching and filling her, but taking it slow, the pace not fast enough for either of them to climax any time soon. _After all, _she thought, contentedly, _Pansy’s the focus, isn’t she?_

She pulled away from Pansy to give Harry a quick kiss, laying her free hand overtop one of his on Pansy’s breast, and once again was pleased that he interpreted her meaning without her needing to explain. His hand slipped out from under hers, trailing down Pansy’s body, stopping just above Daphne’s fingers to lazily stroke at Pansy’s clit.

“Merlin,” Pansy groaned.

“No,” Daphne smirked, “_Harry and Daphne._” She began to increase the pace at which she fingered Pansy, rolling the brunette’s nipple piercing between her fingers in her other hand.

She was _thoroughly _unprepared when Harry reached around her, grabbing her arse, and pulling her deeper into the seated position they found themselves in – Daphne didn’t think they could have executed this arrangement if Pansy wasn’t such a short and svelte woman, but somehow, the three of them _fit _together perfectly.

As she increased her pace, so too did Harry begin to thrust upwards into her, until before long, both her and Pansy were positively _bouncing _against Harry’s strong chest, the dark-haired wizard managing to piston his hips even with two women on top of him. Crushed chest-to-chest against Pansy, all Daphne could do was draw the other woman into a passionate kiss, pulling her fingers up and down in short thrusts, the witch’s legs (splayed open and hanging over the sides of the chair) quivering as Pansy approached her second climax.

In all the _fucking_, Daphne had failed to remember that _Pansy’s _hands were presently unoccupied, a fact that was _sharply _apparent when Daphne felt the pleasant sting of Pansy slapping her palms down on her arse, holding Daphne tight as Harry’s thrusts somehow became _more _powerful.

“_Bet you’ll come first,” _Pansy smirked, leaning forwards to suck at the side of Daphne’s neck, under her jaw.

_Clever bitch, _Daphne thought, as an orgasm suddenly began to build, _it’s not a bet if you rig the game. _

Sure enough, Pansy was proven correct in short order, as a shaking orgasm appeared suddenly and powerfully in Daphne’s core. She cried her ecstasy, leaning her head back, her tits thrust forward into Pansy’s face; the way that her fingers suddenly slipped from Pansy’s hot, practically _liquid _sex proof that their brief “contest” was a near thing.

“Fuuuck,” Harry groaned, the slap of his hips against hers becoming audible as his thrusts grew erratic, only Pansy’s arms holding Daphne tight managing to keep his cock sheathed within her. He kissed Daphne deeply as she felt his cum shoot inside her, Pansy’s wet pussy pressed against her abdomen as if _both _her lovers were marking her.

_Fuck, _she thought, hazily, _we really _are _good at this. _

Moments passed in the afterglow, as Harry continued to show no signs of complaint at the two panting witches draped on top of him.

“Mm, Daph?” Pansy spoke, the first to interrupt the hazy euphoria.

“Mm?” Daphne replied, not quite able to form words yet.

“Have you seen Harry’s bedroom yet?” Pansy asked, prompting a chuckle from the wizard underneath her.

“Actually, no.”

“Well,” Pansy leaned back, luxuriating, stretching her arms over her head (which did _very _appealing things to her tits) “I think it’s about time we take this upstairs.”

_That, _Daphne thought, hazily, _is another brilliant idea. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping that the various unconventional positions were easy enough to visualize - feel free to comment if there's anything that isn't making sense!


	7. Black Light (Daphne/Pansy/Harry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pansy, Daphne, and Harry conclude the night's celebrations with a roaring climax

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a bit of a warning, this chapter contains horrible abuses of faux-Latin spells

Pansy

Running a hand through her hair, Pansy walked back into Harry’s bedroom, spotting the man himself stretched out on his bed, lounging with an arm tucked behind his head. She appreciated the sight briefly – adulthood had gone well for him, transforming him from _scrawny _to _lithe_ – before retrieving her cigarettes and wand from her purse.

She flopped to a seat next to Harry’s legs, as he withdrew an ashtray from somewhere on his bedside table. Lighting her cigarette, she saw Harry wave his hand in a strange pattern, muttering “_aerobibus fumos” _under his breath. A swirling, translucent sphere appeared above the bedside table, which seemed to pull the smoke from the air and hold it within its boundary.

“That’s a neat little trick,” Pansy spoke, as she watched another exhaled breath of smoke swirl its way into the orb.

Harry merely smirked, lighting his own cigarette with a tap of his finger. Pansy was _almost _impressed at the display of magic – clearly the Chosen One had learned a thing or two since Hogwarts that went beyond his talent in sex.

“Came up with it for a minor raid a couple years back,” Harry explained, his voice carried on smoke, “an illicit potions vendor had dosed the air around his flat with forgetfulness potion, draught of lethargy, and confusion concoction. _That _was a neat little trick that helped him operate right under the noses of his muggle neighbours.”

“Clever,” Pansy admitted, “you could have just taken a memory potion and a draught of bravado to counter those effects, but this,” she gestured at the smoky orb suspended in Harry’s bedroom, “seems more your style.”

“I always was pants at potions,” Harry agreed, shrugging.

“So what happened to the potion dealer?”

“He got a fine,” Harry frowned briefly, “apparently it’s not a big deal to sell disinhibition potions to muggles if you’re advertising them as a fun new kind of drug.”

Pansy could have rolled her eyes, that was just so… _typical _of the Ministry. She spent two years on probation, not allowed her wand or any use of magic for some – to be fair, regrettable – actions she’d taken as a _child_, but other wizards and witches who’d escaped the Ministry’s watchful eye were basically allowed to play with muggles’ minds as they pleased.

“What’s a fun new drug?” Daphne asked, making her reappearance from her turn freshening up in Harry’s bathroom. Pansy only leered momentarily as she watched the sway of the blonde’s hips, a smirk crossing her lips as Daphne took the cigarette from Pansy’s hand, stealing a drag without even asking.

“Oh, just old wannabe-Auror stories,” Harry shrugged again, nonchalant, sitting up to take a swig from the bottle of firewhiskey.

As he passed her the bottle, Pansy had one of those little moments of realization, once more noticing the arguable absurdity of her present circumstances: the hero of Hogwarts, the greatest champion of the Light, explaining one of his past actions as a Wizarding private eye to his rapt audience of the Slytherin Ice Queen and The Girl Who Said Grab Him.

She definitely wasn’t going to _complain _about said circumstances, but – damn her Slytherin instincts – she was left with the briefest sense of nervousness, wondering how much longer this casual-but-frequent dynamic was going to remain stable.

In typical Pansy fashion, she found the inspiration for a means of retaking control in the brief gleam she caught in Harry’s eyes as she twisted to pass the bottle of firewhiskey to Daphne, his gaze passing over her breasts.

“Not that I don’t enjoy those stories,” she drawled, before yanking on Harry’s legs, pulling him flat onto his back again, “but I’ve just decided that I want you using your mouth for something else.” She crawled forwards, appreciating how Harry ran his tongue over his lips as her meaning became clear, swinging her leg over his head to straddle his face.

Pansy sucked in a breath as Harry slowly traced his tongue along the inside of her thigh, actually gasping when he nipped gently at the sensitive flesh directly where her leg met her hips.

“Mm,” Daphne spoke into Pansy’s ear, sending shivers down her neck – especially since Harry chose that moment to run his tongue _torturously _over her lower lips. “He looks good eating pussy, doesn’t he?”

He _did_, Pansy was happy to say – as she glanced down at Harry’s emerald eyes, locked up on her own in a challenge. She reached down to run her fingers through his hair, but included just enough of a tug on his messier-than-usual locks that he wouldn’t dare think she was going _easy _on him or anything. Daphne, for her part, started to run her hands up Pansy’s sides, cupping her breasts, before Pansy decided on a more _direct _approach the other witch could take.

“Get in front of me,” Pansy commanded, reaching behind her to playfully swat at Daphne’s arse.

Clambering, the blonde listened to Pansy’s _request_, positioning herself so that she kneeled behind Harry’s head, both women perched overtop of him once again. Pansy didn’t waste time in yanking Daphne into herself, _claiming _her mouth with a searing kiss, her tongue immediately pressing for entrance. With her free hand, she took a firm grip on Daphne’s arse, grabbing and squeezing in appreciation as she began to gently rock against Harry’s mouth.

_After all, _she thought, _this _is _my celebration. _

Pansy shuddered as Harry licked over her clit, then outright _gasped _as this action was met by Daphne reaching up to tweak her nipples. Though she didn’t exactly want to boost the man’s ego, he was _good _at eating pussy, striking a delicate balance between attention paid to her clit and teasing strokes over the rest of her sex.

When he plunged his tongue _inside _her, she felt an involuntary spasm trace its way down her legs, and felt Daphne smirk against her lips – which made her realize once more that these two were attempting to seize control from Pansy’s hands. Normally, she might be willing to let them try (especially with such pleasurable means being employed), but at this moment, she felt more _demanding _than usual.

“Your turn,” she breathed huskily, as she removed herself – after thrusting her sex against his face, hard – from Harry, backing up down the length of his body. She pulled Daphne along with her, which had the desired effect of pulling the blonde’s sex into position over Harry’s mouth, as Pansy felt her rear end collide with something _hard _between Harry’s legs.

Teasing him, she slid his length between her lips, gliding up and down over him, before she lost her _own _patience and angled him upwards, impaling herself on his cock in one smooth motion.

“Fuck,” she muttered, in concert with Harry’s identical proclamation (though his was muffled by Daphne’s legs).

“I think that’s the idea,” Daphne drawled, entirely too _smug_ for someone who was obviously _enjoying herself_ as much as Pansy was. She decided to silence the smart-arse comments by pulling the blonde forward into another heated snogging session, pawing at Daphne’s tits with almost as much urgency as Daphne’s own hands were demonstrating on Pansy’s breasts.

Harry, for his part, proved the perfect gentleman for the time being: content to let two gorgeous witches ride him at either end.

_Not that I’m looking for “gentlemanly”, _Pansy thought, slamming her hips down into Harry with more force, throwing an arm over Daphne’s shoulders to gain the necessary leverage. Without looking, her fingers sought out her wand, finding it beside Harry’s legs. After several more moments of intense riding, she slowed, drawing the pace to an agonizingly slow up and down motion, before lifting herself off of Harry entirely.

She took a breath, steeling herself momentarily, before pointing her wand at Harry’s throbbing cock and announcing the spell she had in mind: _“Lubricatus”_

Daphne’s eyes widened in excitement, as the witch evidently remembered the offer Pansy had made to Harry earlier in the evening. Pansy smirked, _nobody can say I don’t follow through on my promises, _she thought, giving Harry’s member a couple of exploratory strokes, _or that _anybody _fucks as well as I do._

“Oh, I want to watch this,” Daphne announced, swinging free of her perch on Harry’s face, who in turn looked up at Pansy with a mixture of breathless arousal, confusion, and absolutely _disastrously _messy hair.

“_Lubricio Penetrata_,” Pansy intoned as she pointed her wand at her arsehole, shivering as the spell took effect. The spell _–_ one of _frequent _use by Blaise, according to his bragging when he’d taught her the incantation – was apparently an old Roman invention, one that lubricated and applied cleaning and stretching charms to the rear entrance of someone preparing to be penetrated.

Exhaling, and relaxing, she sat herself back down, the thick head of Harry’s cock coming to rest against her now-slick arsehole, beginning to stretch her open but not yet sliding inside.

“Pans,” Harry choked out, “you don’t have to,”

“Shut the fuck up,” she hissed, one of her hands snaking out to wrap around his throat, “_you _aren’t the one making decisions right now.”

Daphne moaned beside her, repositioning herself behind Pansy, apparently _enthralled _at this sight. Taking yet another deep breath, Pansy pushed herself down, and Harry’s cock entered her back door, causing him to mutter “fuck” at the same time as Daphne whispered “_Morgana_” in an impressed tone.

While it wasn’t something that she wanted to engage in _every _time she had sex, Pansy had found that she appreciated a bit of buggery on those occasions when she was feeling particularly kinky – and this night as _definitely _one of them. She actually surprised herself as a moan escaped her lips while she allowed Harry to sink more deeply inside of her, luxuriating in the not-quite-painful stretch, the taboo pressure within the deepest parts of her insides.

“Holy _fuck_ that’s hot,” Daphne muttered at her side, as Pansy came to rest against Harry’s thighs, his cock fully buried within her.

“You,” Pansy gasped – _okay, maybe it feels better than I planned on _– “come here.”

Daphne obeyed without hesitation, coming around to face Pansy again, yelping in pleasant surprise as Pansy roughly turned her so that Daphne’s back was pressed against her own front, the blonde hauled over top of the man beneath them, both of the witches facing Harry.

“You’re both,” Pansy grunted, beginning to slide up and down Harry’s length, feeling him stretch her in ways that she wasn’t entirely sure she’d actually felt before, “very good at this,” sinking down once more with a _plap_, “but _I’m in charge here_.”

Releasing her grip around Harry’s neck, her hand immediately sought Daphne’s sex, which she found _dripping _with anticipation. Beginning to increase the pace at which she rode Harry over time, she hooked two fingers into Daphne roughly, pulling upwards against the sensitive pad of tissue at the front of the blonde’s sex.

Words quickly became unnecessary, as the trio groaned and muttered their contentment, Pansy beginning to ride Harry in earnest even as her ministrations on Daphne began to produce _deliciously _wet sounds.

“Cum for me,” She ordered, breathily, and was actually surprised that _Daphne _was the one who broke first, half-expecting the tight, lubricated grip of her arse to completely _unmake _Harry. Not that she was unhappy with how the blonde shrieked and _came_ around her fingers, a jet of liquid erupting from her and landing on Harry’s torso as Pansy pulled out of Daphne’s sex with expert timing.

Harry moaned, apparently enjoying the sight as much as Pansy had, and she felt him throb within her. Not one to provide him time to catch himself, she rode him with a few quick, short strokes at the very end of his cock, before _slamming _down into him, feeling his orgasm explode within her as she also moaned at the sheer _debauchery _of the whole scene.

It took a few moments for the trio to catch their breaths, as Pansy removed herself from Harry’s cock (muttering “_Climactus” _as she did so – the second part of the sex spell made cleanup _much _more convenient), both Pansy and Daphne slumping forward to practically bury Harry under a pile of sweaty (though still _gorgeous_, she insisted) women.

“Fuck,” He spoke, finally voicing his thoughts.

“You were both very good,” Pansy drawled, smirking, as she reached up to stroke each of her partners’ hair.

“Mm, Daph?” Harry muttered, just audible to her.

“Yeah?”

“When you came just now, you think you could do that again?” Harry asked.

_Squirting _is _pretty hot, _Pansy thought, as she idly traced patterns in Daphne’s blonde hair. Harry muttered something to the other witch, but it was too low for Pansy to catch. Similarly, Daphne’s whispered response was one she didn’t catch.

_Oh, fuck, _she realized, just before Daphne wriggled out from under her, Harry surging forward to capture her wrists in his hands, as the blonde grabbed Pansy by the hips, the pair working in concert to re-position her against Harry’s headboard.

“Unhand me, you brutes!” She cried, in _slightly _dramatic false protest.

“Daphne and I were thinking,” Harry drawled, leaning forward to nip at her ear, “you might very well be the centre of attention tonight,”

“But nobody is _in charge_ here.” Daphne finished.

One of Daphne’s hands replaced Harry’s against Pansy’s wrist, and the pair looming over top of her each moved to straddle one of her legs, pushing her to be spread-eagled. She _definitely _wasn’t going to complain, though she thought she might protest anyways.

Thoughts of this teasing rebellion were driven away by the motion of each of Harry and Daphne’s free hands trailing down her body, each of her lovers pausing to pull and pinch at her pierced nipples, before traveling further down to slide along her wet pussy. It didn’t take long for the pair to _both _push fingers inside Pansy, two of Daphne’s digits and one of Harry’s filling her in a_ very _satisfying way.

Even if she’d found the thoughts to voice any challenges or barbs, she was denied the opportunity as the duo leaned in to begin kissing her – though all three of their tongues danced together inside and around Pansy’s mouth, it distinctly felt as though _both _were snogging _her_ in this moment.

She moaned through the pleasurable oral activities as their fingers began moving inside her, her hips bucking to the best of her ability, restrained by her lovers’ bodies as she was. Dimly, she became aware that Harry and Daphne had both released their grips on her hands, which she rewarded by weaving her fingers into their hair at the backs of their heads, pulling their faces tighter against her.

As the trio separated to grasp for breath, she noted that Harry and Daphne were each frantically masturbating even as they drove their fingers into Pansy’s needy sex, and the sheer _debauchery _of this sight sent a ripple of the beginnings of an orgasm through her.

“Harry,” Daphne gasped, “thought that you liked it when he came on you, earlier,”

“So I thought,” Harry continued, “why don’t we _both _cum all over you?”

_Fuck._

The orgasm hit Pansy _hard, _her breath seizing in her chest, her vision practically blacking out with the force of the pleasure rolling over her. Her hips pressed upwards, and by the time she regained awareness, she felt Daphne’s thighs quivering around her own. Pansy provided encouragement by moaning, opening her mouth and letting her tongue loll out, which set _Harry _off, who bellowed in pleasure as she felt jets of his cum spray over her chest, a small trail of the salty cum landing on her tongue. In short order, Daphne practically _whined_ to announce her own climax, twitching and pulling back as her own cum sprayed over Pansy’s belly in a squirting orgasm.

“_Morgana’s Tits,_” Pansy moaned, “fuck… fuck.”

Harry chuckled, the low sound against her ear sending a pleasurable aftershock through her, as Daphne flopped bonelessly beside her, cuddling up against Pansy’s side.

“You did give me a stamina potion,” Harry teased, as Pansy made a show of licking her lips clean.

“And it was clearly the right decision,” she murmured, feeling sleep beginning to approach. Considerately, Harry muttered a quick “_scourgify”_ to clean her off before sleep, dismissing the lights in his room with a flick of his hand.

_Fuck me, _Pansy thought, as she contentedly stroked little patterns against the backs of the two pressed up against either side of her, _I could get used to this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of this particular sex scene! Up next is the morning after!
> 
> I'd love to hear thoughts, comments, criticisms, or anything that comes to mind!


	8. Teaser, Tormentor (Pansy/Harry, Daphne watches)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daphne, Harry, and Pansy navigate the morning after, lay down some ground rules, and Harry shows off a unique talent

Harry

Harry became aware of two things as he awoke to the high-pitched sound of someone exasperatedly clearing their throat: first, that waking up with two naked witches draped over him was a _very _pleasant experience; second, that waking up to Kreacher demanding his attention was _not_.

“Kreacher _asked_,” the ancient elf spoke, “if Master and his… guests are wanting breakfast?”

“Er,” Harry rasped, blearily remembering how to speak, “no, thank you, Kreacher. If you would, I’d actually prefer that you reorganize the hall of portraits according to… birth month.”

“Kreacher will do this!” _Good, that’ll keep him out of my hair for a few hours, _Harry thought, as the elf vanished – quite literally – from his sight.

This left Harry with the _significantly _more enjoyable sight of Daphne and Pansy in the morning: at some point in the night, they’d managed to rearrange themselves so that one of the women was on either side of Harry, and if their present proximity was any indication, apparently _snuggling _during sleep was a common Slytherin trait.

“Wuzzat a House Elf?” Daphne asked, her voice thick with sleep.

“Came with the house,” Harry explained, not really wishing to spend more time thinking about Kreacher when there were much more pleasant options available to him. Pansy, for her part, made a disgruntled sound and rolled off Harry to bury her face in a pillow – _not a morning person, her. _

“Think I’m pretty much awake now,” Harry summoned his glasses from his nightstand, “you fancy breakfast?”

“That would be delightful,” Daphne replied, rolling onto her back to sit up, blinking her eyes in a way that probably _shouldn’t _have been attractive, but she managed it somehow anyways. Harry made a noise of acknowledgement as he finished untangling himself from (still sprawled face-down) Pansy, pulling on a pair of pants and a t-shirt as he made his way to his kitchen.

By the time that Harry had the kettle boiling and several rashers of streaky bacon sizzling, Daphne had wandered down from his bedroom to sit at the table, wearing a pair of comfortable-looking shorts and a tank top that she’d presumably transfigured from some of the _much _less breakfast-suitable clothing she’d worn at various points of last night.

“Tea or coffee?” Harry inquired.

“Tea, please,” Daphne answered, leaning back and stretching in a way that _really _showed off her figure, “y’want me to help with anything?”

_She gets less formal in the morning, _Harry noticed, as he made a quick gesture to turn down her offer. Flipping the slices of bacon with a fork, he strode to the cupboards, pulling a mug and a box of teabags from within. Pansy made her appearance at this point, having begrudgingly removed herself from Harry’s bed, and without speaking she made her way beside him, reaching up into the cupboard to remove a mug of her own.

This action helped Harry to notice that Pansy had definitely _not _bothered to transfigure herself a new set of clothes, instead she was wearing one of _his _t-shirts and her thong from the night before. This realization, of course, was also helped along by the fact that her stretch to retrieve a mug gave Harry a _fantastic _view of her arse.

He smirked as she glanced over his shoulder to catch him in the act, the roll of her eyes paired with a tiny quirk at the corner of her lips. As had become a more frequent occurrence since he got involved with them, Harry was once more struck with the realization that spending time with Pansy, Daphne, or especially both was just _easier _than he’d expected it to be.

Which was something he had to be cautious about. While he wasn’t lying when he had told Pansy that he’d had casual sex before, even casual sex with friends, those previous situations had always seemed to carry an inherent expiration date due to outside factors, and from what he could tell neither of Pansy or Daphne had any upcoming plans to leave England. This kind of sustained _closeness _was something that could easily start becoming _intimacy_ if he wasn’t careful, and while he was hardly put out by that idea, he also knew that that simply wasn’t the kind of relationship that the three had with each other.

“Thanks,” He spoke, accepting a mug of coffee of his own that Pansy passed into his hand, before she strode through the kitchen to join Daphne at her side of the table. _Speaking of “intimacy” _Harry thought, watching Daphne lean into Pansy’s hand as the brunette idly stroked the blonde’s bare shoulder. _They could work together, _he continued musing, cracking some eggs into a second pan, _they’re both artsy and into fashion and all that, and Daph’s tough enough not to get steamrolled by Pansy. _

“I’m curious,” Daphne interrupted his thoughts, “why do you cook Muggle fashion? I know a lot of us moved away from the magical world for a while, but, well,” she gestured vaguely at the surroundings, the – granted – magical mansion that Harry had lived in since the war ended.

“I lived with Muggle relatives when I was young,” Harry answered, carefully measuring his response. _“You aren’t ‘bothering’ people when you share with them,” _he reminded himself, recalling a particularly salient piece of advice his therapist had once offered. Beginning to plate breakfast, he continued, trying to _share _without over-sharing. “I guess I never really bothered to learn it another way, this is just what I was used to.”

“Huh,” Daphne said in response, “I never knew that. I guess I assumed you would have been raised as a ward somewhere, being the heir to your house and all.” _Not exactly part of Dumbledore’s plans, that_, Harry thought with the slightest twinge of resentment, sitting himself at the table and setting the plates of bacon and eggs in the center.

“To be honest, I’m still not really sure what all that Lordship stuff even means,” He answered, drawing a snort from Pansy as she reached to grab a slice of bacon directly off the serving plate, “I definitely didn’t learn about it as a child.”

“You’d absolutely hate it,” Pansy drawled, “it’s a bunch of rules and traditions and other stodgy bullshite, which if I remember right, was exactly what you learned to ignore as a child.”

“Hey,” He protested, “I followed the rules at Hogwarts! Sometimes. Now and then. If they weren’t stupid.”

Daphne laughed, a pretty, almost musical sound. “You know, sometimes I almost feel like I missed out not being more outgoing when we were all in school.”

“You really didn’t,” Pansy grimaced over her mug of coffee, “it’s absolutely mad to think of how much time we spent hating each other and circulating ridiculous rumors.”

_It was worse than that, _Harry thought, meeting Pansy’s gaze. She pursed her lips and broke her stare from his eyes, instead opting to lift an egg onto her plate. Harry had never bothered asking Draco how much the blond had shared with Pansy during Hogwarts, which left him in the uncomfortable position of having _no clue_ what Pansy knew about the true actions taken during the functional cold war held in the halls of their former school.

“Oh, I definitely still heard rumors,” Daphne explained, “Tracey was more than happy to share what she’d heard with me. You, Harry, had some particularly _ridiculous _ones surrounding you!”

“Oh?” He asked, on edge despite his own efforts to take this conversation as nothing more than a light repartee.

“Let’s see… I’d heard you killed a troll, that you battled Slytherin’s monster in the forbidden forest _or _that you were commanding it to attack your enemies, that you’d mastered wandless magic before you even got to Hogwarts, or that you were a necromancer using the ghosts of Hogwarts to spy on people.”

Despite his _caution _(only _arguably_ “paranoia”, he’d insist), Harry found himself chuckling at this list of deeds attributed to him. “I’d say that’s roughly half accurate,” he explained, smirking.

“You’re a pretty deft hand now, I’ve gotta say,” Pansy cut in, apparently also happy to move away from _actual _conspiracies of Hogwarts and towards imagined ones, “but I would have noticed if you were some kind of magical prodigy at Hogwarts. It’s not that one.”

Harry nodded to her. “I didn’t kill a troll, I just knocked it out, really, and Ron and Hermione helped.”

“If you had command of Slytherin’s monster, Draco wouldn’t have survived second year,” Pansy reasoned.

“I’m no expert, but you hardly strike me as a necromancer,” Daphne added.

_Master of Death_, Harry thought before tamping _that _particular train of thought down immediately. “It turns out that the ghosts are just happy to have someone to talk to, though,” he left any further implications of that statement unsaid.

“So that’s two half-truths, two falsehoods, that leaves, what?” Daphne sipped her tea, “you fought a monster in the forbidden forest?”

“Well, yeah,” Harry admitted, “but Slytherin’s serpent never made it out to the forest.”

Pansy brought her mug down on the table with enough force to make Daphne jump. “What!? There really _was _a monster?” She frowned, “I always thought Draco was making that up to try and make himself look brave.”

“Er, yeah.” Harry realized that he’d said more than he had really _meant _to. “There was, in second year, it actually was attacking students.”

Daphne’s eyebrows rose in surprise, before immediately dropping into a furrow as she thought her way through this statement. “There’s only a few creatures that would match those attacks, Harry…”

_Fuck, I forget how smart she is. _While Daphne was _fun _to spend time with and didn’t often bring up particularly academic pursuits, Harry recalled – too late, apparently – that there were several times throughout these school years where Daphne was competing directly against Hermione for the highest marks in different classes. _Might as well get it over with…_

“Yeah. It was a basilisk.”

Pansy actually goggled at this, before letting a low whistle loose and muttering “fuck me…” in surprise, slumping back in her chair.

Daphne’s surprise was a little more obvious, as she cried “A _Basilisk!?_” with enough volume that Harry was half-afraid that Kreacher would decide he was being summoned and show up with some unfortunate reptile in hand.

“Well, it was. It’s dead now, so _that _problem isn’t going to happen again.”

“What, did Dumbledore dispose of it?” Daphne asked incredulously.

“Er,” Harry glanced over at Pansy, not that the wide-eyed brunette was apparently going to back him up on this one, “No, uh, I killed it.”

“Your magic was strong enough to get through a _basilisk’s _defenses at twelve?” Daphne almost whispered, looking up and down Harry as if she expected to find some sudden change to his physical shape.

“Well, no, I got lucky,” Harry scratched the back of his head, “if it wasn’t for Fawkes I would have died, and I, uh, I didn’t use magic.”

He hoped that this ambiguity would be enough to end the discussion before he made himself look any more foolish than he already was, but the two witches remained silent, if not actually seeming _eager _to hear the rest of the story for some reason.

“Er… I killed it with a sword. It was all luck, and it got me anyways.”

There was a moment of suspenseful silence, before Pansy broke the tension with a nearly _cackling _bout of laughter. “You know what, Harry? I think I hate you more than ever. All this time I’ve thought your whole humility angle was just some kind of play at seeming mysterious, but now I’m realizing that you’re actually this fucking thick, aren’t you?”

“I, uh, yes?” Harry answered, frowning. Pansy’s _words _were certainly sharp, but he’d experienced both genuine venom _and _toothless teasing from her over the years, and this felt _different _than those occasions.

“I think, Harry, that you’ve actually managed the impossible,” Daphne interjected, “you’ve impressed _Pansy Parkinson_.”

“Fuck off, Daph, you’re impressed too.” Pansy’s gaze – where Daphne had seemed analytical or curious – was practically _smoking_.

Sensing an opportunity, Harry busied himself with wolfing down some bacon, hoping that the conversation’s swerve towards a debate between the two women would change the topic away from himself.

“Kills a basilisk with a _sword_, at **_twelve, _**survives a basilisk bite,” Pansy dashed Harry’s hopes immediately. while pointing at the circular scar burned into his right bicep _despite _Fawke’s miraculous intervention, “I thought you were just trying to sound impressive at Draco’s wedding, but you’re _actually _a dragonslayer too, aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah,” Harry thought that this was fairly straightforward, in _that _situation he’d had enough planning, foresight, and the use of his magic that it seemed to be fairly routine, “but loads of people could have. It was half-mad, basically more like animal control than anything else.”

He stood to begin clearing the plates from the table – _definitely _not running away, or trying to hide, or any of his other more troublesome instincts – when Daphne, finally, provided a change in topic.

“You know, one of the other more persistent rumors was that Draco had a snake familiar that he kept hidden, was _that _one true too?”

_Well it wasn’t _Draco _who had one… _he recalled, before forcing himself to think of happier times.

“Pfft,” Pansy snorted, “you both know Draco better than I do at this point, which should have given you plenty of evidence that the man has absolutely no fucking subtlety about him. If he had something up his sleeve, he’d show it off as quickly as possible.”

“Oh, yeah, like when he showed up with that new broomstick,” Daphne continued, as Pansy snorted and added in other recollections of her own.

_Thank Merlin for Draco Malfoy’s ego._

* * *

The rest of the morning had passed without any further cause for Harry to get _too _uncomfortable talking about himself, and the afternoon had begun to lapse into the evening before Harry even realized that he’d spent most of a day just _hanging out _with Daphne and Pansy, enjoying their company without it being sexual in nature.

It took a little longer for Daphne to apparently reach the same conclusion, as she suddenly asked Harry if she and Pansy should leave, to which he found that his immediate answer was that they should _not_.

Pansy’s similar realization came shortly afterwards, which she chose to remedy by redirecting the energy of their socializing back to a distinctly sexual nature.

“So last night was definitely great,” She opened, “but we should probably lay out any boundaries and preferences now before we get into anything too intense.”

_It gets _more_ intense?_

“I’m pretty much game for anything that doesn’t involve vomit or shit,” Pansy bluntly stated, “I’m sure you can tell that the rough stuff is a big ‘yes’ for me.”

“I think you’re more experienced with that than I am,” Daphne admitted, “I’m curious and all, but I think I’d prefer if you two ask me before trying something new.”

“Oh, of course,” Pansy agreed, “I’m all for spontaneity but don’t try and shove it up my arse without a warning, Harry.”

“Uh,” he started, before realizing that she was _teasing _him, of all things to tease about, “yeah, same for me.”

Pansy’s eyes lit up at this. “Oh, I _do _fancy myself pretty good with a strap-on, if that’s something you want!”

“Never tried it,” Harry shrugged, surprising himself a bit with his candor, “the idea doesn’t really do much for me, but I mean… fair’s fair?”

Daphne giggled, “I’m interested, it looked like a lot of fun, but that’s a whole new thing for me that I’d need to get used to. I guess that’s one of my turn-ons, I think I like watching the two of you together.”

“Ooh, yeah, voyeurism can be hot. What about hard ‘no’s? I’m definitely game for dirty talk and a bit of degradation, call me a slut or a cunt or whatever, but do not call me stupid.” Pansy spoke authoritatively.

“Don’t call me a freak,” Harry blurted, realizing in that moment how absurd it was that this dirty sex talk had somehow opened a door for him to address a distinctly non-sexual insecurity of his. “I don’t want to be tied up, either.” _Too many times when it was _not _a fun occasion. _

“I don’t want to talk about getting pregnant when we’re having sex,” Daphne added, her eyes briefly glazing over sadly before her usual spark returned, “I’m on the potion and we can always discuss the actual health side of that issue, but while you are _more _than welcome to cum inside me, Harry, I wouldn’t like it if either of you implied something about the… results.”

“Hmm,” Pansy tapped a finger against her lips in thought, “I’m on the potion too – obviously – but I think it might be kind of hot if you wanted to try that roleplay with me, Harry.”

“Once again,” Harry shrugged a second time, at least restraining his impulse to scratch the back of his head, “doesn’t do a lot for me, but I’m game. Definitely won’t happen with you, Daph. I’m not down for anything that involves actual pain.”

“Where’s the line for you?” Pansy inquired, “I mean, don’t beat me black and blue or anything like that, but I’d really appreciate it if you can spank my arse red now and then, or slap me around a bit.”

Harry felt a flush creep up his neck while he pictured Pansy’s arse in that state. “Yeah. Yes. That’s good with me, I just don’t want to be whipped or anything like that.”

“What if you were doing the whipping?” Daphne – surprisingly – asked. Harry thought about it, trying his best to divorce this topic from the more serious instances of torture he’d experienced.

“Maybe? I don’t want to feel like either of you aren’t enjoying it, whatever I’m doing. If you’re super keen on it I could try.”

“Oh, trust me,” Pansy reassured him, “I’m _thoroughly _enjoying everything we’ve done so far. So, yes, Harry, I would _adore _if you wanted to tie me up one of these times.”

“I’m not sure if I have any particular fantasies, really,” Daphne pondered, “I think I’m happy just exploring the possibilities, you know?” 

“This _was _my biggest fantasy,” Harry snorted, “I think having two witches at once is a pretty standard one.”

Over the course of the conversation, Harry noticed that Pansy had been inching her way over his couch closer to him, and he was pretty sure that the burgeoning arousal this inspired could not be excused at all by the effects of the stamina potion he’d taken the night before. The amount of sex he’d had the night before (let alone over the last few weeks) was already approaching a personal best for him, and yet he was _still _interested in more – _yeah, there’s some real chemistry here_, he admitted to himself.

“Just two?” Pansy teased, smirking.

“Hah, that reminds me of all those rumors we talked about earlier,” Daphne practically giggled, “if you believed the rumors, Harry, you had slept with just about every witch in Hogwarts: the Gryffindor chasers, the Patil twins at the same time, even some of the _Professors_.”

Harry chuckled. “Believe it or not, I didn’t sleep with _anyone _when I was at Hogwarts.” _After, though? The list was still _mostly_ inaccurate_. He certainly hadn’t slept with all _three _chasers or _both_ Patils, but he didn’t feel like going into those details.

“Oh, yeah, Harry Potter: Sex God was a surprisingly persistent rumor,” Pansy agreed, “you would not _believe _how many times I heard a story that you had literal magic sex powers.”

“Er,” Harry started speaking, then stopped.

“Er?” Pansy’s gaze sat on him heavily, as she abandoned the pretense of inching closer to him, instead beginning to _crawl _towards him on the couch.

“Well, uh, kind of. I haven’t done it in a long time though.”

Daphne laughed at the other end of the couch. “Harry, don’t get me wrong, you’re _very _good, but… _sex magic?_”

“I, uh,” he licked his lips, noticing Pansy’s eyes tracking the movement of his tongue, the flush at the back of his neck back with a _vengeance_. “Y’know how I’m a parselmouth?”

“Harry.” Pansy’s voice was coming out with _far _too much smoke. “You haven’t done this to me yet _why_?”

“It’s been a while, and it got harder after…” _After the Horcrux in me was destroyed_. “After some things happened. I need to look at a snake to speak parseltongue anyways, and I’m definitely not kinky enough to bring reptiles into the bedroom.”

Pansy closed what little gap remained, crawling into Harry’s lap, facing him.

“Potter, you absolute tosser, I have a snake tattoo.”

_Oh. Oh! _

“I think I’m all fucked out from last night,” Daphne’s voice was mirthful, “but I _did _just say I like watching, so, yes, Harry, I think you should show Pansy what you mean.”

“Alright,” he replied, trying to force more confidence into his voice than he actually felt, “uh, what kind of position works for that? I can’t really see your back if, y’know…”

Pansy silenced the beginnings of his stammering with a fierce kiss, her tongue pushing past his lips and into his mouth immediately.

“On your back, Potter,” she commanded, as she guided him into this position, laying him on the couch so that his head was pointed towards Daphne and his legs were stretched out towards the opposite end. “Daph, I’ve got a compact in my purse, if you mind?”

Any attempt that Harry made to solve the mystery of what Pansy was implying was lost in the fact that she spun herself around, planting her rear end – still clothed in a thong – directly onto Harry’s face. He groaned against her, arousal surging through him as he reached around her hips to squeeze her arse.

From what he could see that _wasn’t _obscured by Pansy’s arse and pussy, Daphne apparently found what she was looking for, as a small object floated out of Pansy’s purse at the end of Daphne’s wand, growing rapidly in size and levitating above the pair on the couch: a makeup mirror, expanded so that Harry could get a clear glimpse of Pansy’s back from his vantage point.

Pansy pulled _his _shirt off herself, revealing the aforementioned tattoo, before reaching down to start fussing with Harry’s waistband.

“You did say ‘fair is fair’,” she smirked, as he felt her breath against the head of his cock. Groaning, he slipped her thong to the side, taking a slow, languid lick up the entirety of her slit, luxuriating in her slightly-bitter, slightly-salty taste. “Now show me what you can do with your ‘sex magic’.”

_Fine, _he thought, _you want to see what I can do?_

Focusing on the emerald serpent tattooed at the base of Pansy’s spine, Harry summoned up the darker sorts of thoughts that were necessary for him to speak parseltongue these days. The exorcism of a fragment of Voldemort’s soul had – briefly – seemed to strip certain capabilities away from Harry, but he noted that they returned to him as he settled into his post-war identity.

In retrospect, if you’d told him that all the time he’d spent worrying and angsting about his own “potential to go Dark” was going to be a waste of time because it would lead up to Pansy Parkinson sitting on his face, he probably would have thought he’d already gone mad – but in this moment, he was absolutely _thrilled _to hear the sudden gasp from her as he hissed “Hello, little snake” against her sensitive flesh.

“Holy **fuck**,” Pansy yelped, “don’t fucking stop.”

Harry was happy to oblige her, beginning to work his way through the lyrics of “God Save the Queen” and onto the introduction of _Hogwarts: A History_ as the brunette began to writhe on top of him, her periodic moans and gasps muffled by the fact that she was legitimately attempting to match Harry blow-for-blow - by shoving as much of his cock into her throat as she could manage to.

His own satisfied groan – in parseltongue – sent an actual _spasm _shooting through Pansy, as he felt her legs quiver and shake around his head. Slapping one of her arse cheeks, he pulled her closer into his face, deciding that if she wanted him to show off this talent, he’d damn well make a _show _out of it.

Her hand began to pump up and down his length with wild abandon, the pace and _urgency _of her own actions serving to bring forth the first signs of his own approaching orgasm, even as he latched his lips around her clit and ordered her to “come for me” in the snake language – which she absolutely, _obviously _did, a veritable _scream _escaping from her mouth around his cock. Her final, desperate push forwards to engulf the entirety of his length was all the remaining stimulation that he needed, and with a satisfied moan, he came down her throat.

Both parties spent a few moments in a haze, before Pansy disentangled herself, almost stumbling as she turned to flop back onto the couch, while Harry lay, satisfied, his arms outstretched over his head.

“Fuck yes,” Daphne reviewed, “I really _do _like watching.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A general summary of my approach while writing this chapter: how much plot development and dialogue can I get away with using as a complete and total excuse to have Harry and Pansy blow each other's minds in a 69?
> 
> As always, comments, reviews, requests for things you'd like to see, and the like are all welcome!


	9. Soliloquy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daphne engages in some introspection, wondering about her place in the world (let alone her place between Pansy and Harry)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a more plot-based chapter that took a while to spin itself together, but there's still going to be plenty of smut coming down the road!
> 
> I've added a fan-cast of the main trio to the start of this fic - please let me know if the image is working correctly! 
> 
> As always, I really appreciate comments, especially given that this is a bit of a departure from the usual so far!

Daphne

Daphne sighed, setting her brush down and sipping from her mug of tea. The painting that she’d begun was failing to materialize in the way that she had expected, hitting a creative wall after what seemed like only a dozen paint strokes. She usually found that painting - out of the various mediums she dabbled in - required the deepest extent of introspection to put her in the right creative mindset, and she was certainly avoiding _that _particular activity.

Not that there was anything _wrong_, far from it, she’d had a _very _pleasant weekend. In typical _Ice Queen _fashion, she was now beginning to withdraw a bit; responding to the excitement of the past days by isolating herself in her quiet, solitary art.

The remainder of the Saturday night at Harry’s place had been relaxed, easy – and now, by Tuesday afternoon, that _easiness _was beginning to worry her. Harry, Pansy, and herself had all vaguely agreed to some kind of friends-with-benefits arrangement, but Daphne was coming to realize that she didn’t really have a fantastic idea of how to _be _“friends” with someone, let alone adding the “benefits” in.

Sure, she spent time around people often enough, and she certainly had a collection of acquaintances, but as far as genuine _friends _went, she had Astoria (_do siblings even count?_), Tracey (living across the Atlantic), and… that was about it. She got on fine with both Ronald and Theo, the respective partners of each witch, but the primary nature of those friendships was “the man that my friend (or sister) is dating (or married to)”.

Perhaps that was why she was discomfited – _surely friends _talked_ to each other, right?_ If so, it made sense that she had spent an evening just _hanging out _with Harry and Pansy, and it wasn’t some kind of initial warning sign that she was overstepping the borders of the nebulous dynamic that existed between the three.

_I’m probably going to have to actually sit them down and define the rules_, she realized, which somehow seemed much more intimidating than the light and enjoyable way that they’d managed to outline their respective boundaries and expectations for sex itself, something that seemed like it _should_ be more personal.

Whatever Harry and Pansy thought, it didn’t really seem to bother either of them, but both of them were possessed with different kinds of self-confidence that Daphne didn’t think she shared with either of her most recent lovers. She’d picked up on Harry getting uncomfortable around talking about his experiences during the Second Wizarding War, but strangely, the man seemed to struggle more deeply with his _triumphs _than with the many (_many_) traumas he’d experienced.

Pansy… she, on the other hand, maintained an _aggressive _form of confidence that Daphne didn’t care to be on the bad side of again. Where Daphne thought that she’d been playing a fun little game by leaving Pansy uncertain about her attendance at the opening of _Serpentine_, she’d quickly realized her misstep when Pansy had literally seized her by the throat. Fortunately, Pansy had stepped back from the heat of her anger, sparing both of them from the need to test each other in conflict.

_And _that _is another matter entirely, _Daphne thought. While she’d love to ignore the role that some particular aspects played in her life, the reality was that she was a _witch_, she wielded _magic_, and even outside of dueling arenas there were particular _consequences_ arising from the extent of _power _that any individual witch or wizard could bring to bear. Much of her notoriety as the Ice Queen of Slytherin – and the corresponding insulation from the ravages of the war that this isolation had afforded her – came as a result of her ability with magic.

The students of House Slytherin learned quickly to sort themselves into a hierarchy based on how _dangerous _each of them was, and the quickest means of asserting that one was a dangerous person was to show off how well you could wield _power_. Wealth or political status was one arena, physical presence worked in a pinch, but the ability to _destroy _your enemies with your magic was best of all.

Blaise had been the top dog in Slytherin in sheer magical power, Draco was next (and his political power and wealth far outstripped Blaise’s), and Daphne herself had resided in the third rank. Blaise had enjoyed a social status that bypassed the prejudice and bigotry of Purebloods, Draco had essentially been in charge of the entire house, and she had mostly been left alone, uninvolved with Dark Lords or pureblood extremists. 

Not that she’d really had the chance to witness him duelling, but Daphne figured that Harry would probably be able to take on the former top three Slytherins at once. She’d noticed that he casually used wandless and wordless magic, which was impressive enough, but it was the way that he had brushed off the sheer _madness _of some of his feats as a _child _(with _genuine_ humility, at that) which had caused her to reassess her opinion of his magical strength.

This worried Daphne for two very different reasons: first, and most directly relevant, it reminded her of Astoria’s oh-so-helpful hints that Harry would be a good partner for her, one who could _protect _her. She understood that her sister meant well, but Astoria undoubtedly had a better grasp over Harry’s capabilities than Daphne did (given that her husband was the right-hand-man for Harry during the war), and the fact that Astoria hadn’t mentioned “oh, and he’s basically the strongest wizard in Britain, by the way” left her feeling _almost_ like her sister had been manipulating her.

Daphne knew that, on some level, she was being a bit paranoid, that Harry hadn’t shown the slightest indication that he was the type to abuse the power he wielded, but she still felt an impulsive urge to prove that she didn’t need _anyone _to fight her battles for her. It (surely) wasn’t what Astoria meant to imply, and she doubted Harry would even be aware of the context, but it brought to mind how her father (a powerful wizard in his own right) assumed that he could dictate the lives of his children as if they were his servants; someone of Harry’s status, power, and wealth could look someone like Cyrus Greengrass in the eye and tell her father that his own designs didn’t matter any more, because _Lord Potter-Black _had made _his_ own decisions about Daphne Greengrass’s life.

Blinking, she returned her attention to her tea, which had begun to grow cold in the time she’d been lost in thought. Daphne grumbled, retrieving her wand and muttering a re-heating charm, chiding herself internally for getting lost in these kinds of worries. While it was objectively true that Harry was probably _the _most eligible bachelor in Wizarding society, the various forms of power that he commanded weren’t what attracted her to him, and she had the distinct sense that Harry would be _deeply _offended if that _had _been the case.

Then again… the _second _reason that she’d been worried couldn’t be ignored entirely. Powerful wizards and witches tended to attract _followers _of different types through their mere existence, some kind of quirk of magic that Pureblooded families were well aware of (even if the phenomenon was not entirely understood). Not only was Harry almost certainly the most powerful wizard in Britain across _all _of the various arenas she’d considered, but his closest ally was likely the most powerful _witch _of their generation: the only reason that Daphne considered Ronald Weasley to be Harry’s right-hand-man was because Hermione Granger stood beside Harry as an equal, not as any kind of “follower”.

While Daphne wasn’t exactly worried about Harry or Pansy taking other lovers (though she supposed _that _was another topic that should probably be discussed), and she’d never picked up on any real indicators that Harry felt any kind of romantic attraction to Hermione… if it turned out that Daphne and Pansy were just idle means of passing time until Harry and Hermione paired off and began reshaping Magical Britain, the thought of being left as a loose end to be tied off by Granger was a scenario that Daphne didn’t care to ponder.

_Not to mention Pansy…_ Daphne thought – this recent bout of anxiety had focused entirely on Harry until this point, but Daphne had her own fears about the other Slytherin in the strange little dynamic they were sharing. Daphne liked Pansy just as much as she liked Harry, and the trio had been remarkably free of jealousy in the few weeks that they’d been involved with each other, but she had begun to notice a _connection _between the other two that she wasn’t entirely sure she was part of.

It wasn’t surprising that she’d initially wondered, back at Draco and Ginny Malfoy’s wedding, if Harry and Pansy were secretly together – the two shared a _fiery _similarity to each other, both of them self-assured and passionate in a way that Daphne just wasn’t. Sure, she was entirely capable of standing up for herself, but Pansy was _fierce_, and Harry, well, Harry could apparently slay magical beasts in single combat as a _child_.

Pansy was all smoke and sharp edges, if Daphne had to characterize her in a single word it would be “_dangerous”_, and Harry was – apparently – an endless well of surprises and hidden strengths. Harry’s close friends were already becoming the movers and shakers of their society, and Pansy didn’t give a _fuck _about his position in society, treating him with a feigned disdain that Daphne could tell Harry found enjoyable (_intoxicating_, she thought).

Daphne Greengrass, the Ice Queen? She barely even had _friends_, she had only bothered to participate in the Second Wizarding War at the very end, and – compared to what Harry and Pansy seemed to each bring to the table – she wasn’t sure if she’d even really had a _relationship. _Millicent had certainly been of the opinion that their time together hadn’t qualified. _Is it any wonder that I’m afraid of navigating this _thing_ when I’ve never done anything like it before?_

Sighing, she began to pack up her painting supplies. Though she’d apparently managed to summon the introspection that she’d been missing earlier, anything that she wound up painting in this kind of mood was just going to wind up insufferably _angsty_.

* * *

By Thursday, Daphne’s mood had improved, but she still found herself noticing little details about the way Pansy and Harry wrote to each other in their group conversations in the magical notebooks they used to communicate, picking up on (what she was _sure _must be) signs that perhaps this little dynamic was inevitably leading to Harry and Pansy pairing off.

It was with these kinds of insecurities in mind that she went to Astoria and Ronald’s house for lunch: one of the lesser Greengrass properties (her father _could _be generous when he felt that his wishes were being obeyed), the married couple had moved in to the property shortly after their wedding, and had immediately begun to transform it into _their _home.

“Hey, Daph,” Ronald greeted her at the front door, “Stori’s in the kitchen.”

“Cheers,” Daphne replied, entering their home after kicking her shoes off. She was wearing one of her new blouses from _Serpentine_, having realized before her visit that she hadn’t quite rationalized her newfound closeness with Pansy in a way that _wouldn’t _have aroused Astoria’s suspicions, but also not _overly_ worried about any speculation her sister might have into Daphne’s relationships.

She found Astoria fussing over a kettle – an electric Muggle kind, though it was unplugged and the cord dangled uselessly off the counter – and Daphne merely quirked an eyebrow in bemusement as she seated herself at their table.

“My _wonderful _husband,” Astoria explained, tapping her wand against the side of the kettle and giving a little yelp of surprise as it suddenly billowed steam, “has decided that we should learn how to use _technology_.”

“Way of the future, innit?” Ronald walked behind his wife, quietly showing her whatever charm was actually needed to get the kettle to work. “I figure my dad’s on the right track after all, we’re missing out on some of the cleverer Muggle inventions.”

“Ah, yes,” Daphne teased, “however _would _we figure out how to boil water without using magic?”

“Hush,” Astoria grumbled, nevertheless cracking a grin, “I still don’t see why we can’t just employ some house elves for the kitchen.”

“We never needed any,” Ronald began to pour the now-boiled water into cups, teabags already prepared, “and anyways, I don’t want the kid growing up spoiled, y’know?”

Daphne felt a warm sense of happiness at how her sister practically beamed at this last sentiment. She had no doubts that Astoria and Ronald would be good parents (_certainly _better than most Purebloods), and she was always impressed at how easily the pair navigated incongruities between the Greengrass’ more privileged lifestyle and the Weasleys’… more _unconventional _practices.

“Right, yes, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about today, Daph,” Astoria took her cup from Ronald, gently brushing her fingers over the backs of his hands as she did, “I figured that we could use some help planning the announcement party, and you’re obviously my first choice.”

“What do you mean, it should be incredibly simple,” Daphne took her own tea, nodding in thanks to the red-headed man (who appeared to be growing a bright red _beard_, of all stylistic choices), “all we have to do is find a way to have our father present without him making me angry enough to kill him, set a date where many of the most popular and busiest people in Britain will be available, and adhere to the old customs without being stuck-up bints about it, yeah?”

“And that,” Ronald took his own seat, “is precisely why my brilliant wife has decided that I shouldn’t be in charge of planning.”

“At least you’ll have an idea of how to seat a dozen various Weasleys,” Daphne teased, “not to mention that I’m sure half the population of France is going to attend with all the Delacours.”

“Ah,” Ronald’s face tightened in a grimace, briefly, before the expression passed, “the, uh, the Delacours won’t be attending.”

“Oh?” Daphne was confused. Though hardly privy to the inner workings of that side of her brother-in-law’s own inlaws, she knew that the Delacours were one of the few magical families that could compare to the Weasleys in both size _and _insistent friendliness.

“Not my place to talk about it,” Ronald grumbled, drinking from his cup, as Astoria reached a hand out to lay overtop his. Daphne saw him grip Astoria’s fingers between his own, and the sight prompted a fleeting worry - _do I want to get married one day?_ \- before Daphne refocused herself on the conversation at hand. “My brother’s an idiot. I’m sure it’ll be in the Prophet before long, but for now,” he waved a hand dismissively in the air.

_Puzzling_, she thought, before leaving that line of speculation for another time.

“It’s not only planning,” Astoria interrupted, “we also have something to ask you.”

“We’d be honoured if you would be the kid’s godmother,” Ronald blurted, “you’re the only one who knows yet, and I know it’s early, we don’t even know if they’re a boy or a girl or…”

“Of course!” Daphne exclaimed over Ronald’s rapidly-panicking stammering, “_I _would be honoured!”

She would, too. While Daphne might not have had any fucking clue whether she wanted to pursue a marriage (or even _children_) of her own, Ronald and Astoria’s relationship was certainly one that could be aspired to, and her emotions soared with the realization that Astoria was willing to publicly make a gesture that she refused to let their father’s obstinance affect the relationship between his daughters.

As the two Greengrass women excitedly discussed what names Astoria had thought of, who should be told of her state _before _the announcement, and so on, Daphne was derailed when she felt her enchanted notepad vibrate against the side of her chair from her purse. Later, when Astoria and Ron stood to clear the dishes, she checked to see which of Harry or Pansy had written her a message.

_“Hey love, I would really like it if I could actually display some of your art. _

_Plans for Saturday? Maybe I can come over and we can discuss? _

_I promise I’ll be good this time xx” _

Maybe it was spill-over from the overwhelming happiness she felt for Astoria, maybe it was because she was _actually _feeling better and had been worrying over nothing, but Pansy’s message brought a quick, beaming smile to Daphne’s face.

“_That sounds wonderful.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daphne's angst is something that sort of arose on its own in the writing, but rest assured, this story is not going to be angst-focused or heavy on tragedy in any way.


	10. Acts (Daphne/Pansy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pansy and Daphne spend some quality time together

Pansy

Pansy stared at herself in the mirror, cocking her hip to the side. _No, no, too much, _she thought, instead posing by leaning forwards, her chin held in her hand, as if inspecting something with curiosity. The fact that this pose allowed a _generous _portion of her cleavage to spill out of her top would _surely _appear coincidental, right?

She scoffed, shaking her head at herself internally. It wasn’t like she had to plan on _seducing _Daphne, considering they’d already fucked _several _times, and yet Pansy still felt the urge to follow some kind of script on how she’d like to imagine this upcoming (_presumably_) dalliance.

Lighting a cigarette, she continued musing. Pansy supposed that she didn’t _know _for certain that Daphne was even open to having sex today – after all, they were ostensibly meeting to discuss displaying a piece of her art at _Serpentine_, perhaps Greengrass wasn’t the sort to mix business and pleasure – but she would rather not waste time pondering those boring outcomes when she could instead imagine much more _enjoyable _ends to the evening.

Glancing at her clock, she _tsk_ed. Pansy was _far_ too far ahead of her own schedule: getting dressed with literal _hours_ to spare could be seen as an indicator of the almost _embarrassing _amount of excitement that she felt. _Ugh_. It wasn’t even like this was a _date _or anything so _ooh la la _as that, Pansy had two perfectly rational reasons for visiting Daphne’s apartment: to have the (admittedly) talented artist produce something for her shop, and to get the blonde’s face between her legs.

_Yes. Perfectly rational. No need to muddle anything up with “_my feelings” _or something that ridiculous. _

Pansy nodded to herself, as _if _she needed the reassurance, before slipping out of her current outfit and beginning to try another one on. She was fairly sure that she’d be able to _convince _Daphne to fuck, even _if _the unthinkable happened and her outfit _wasn’t _perfect, it wasn’t like that was the _only _reason the blonde was interested in her, right?

_Right?_ She thought. _Hmm. I wonder what she _is _interested in about me. _

A lesser person might have called this fleeting thought an “insecurity”, but _Pansy Parkinson _didn’t feel those kinds of _pedestrian _emotions: surely this was merely an intellectual curiosity, a brief pondering of the _milieu _of her life, yeah?

Pansy rolled her eyes at _herself_, pulling what could have been called a “summer dress” (if it weren’t pitch black and satiny) up her legs as she chastised her own thoughts. It was _obvious _why Daphne would be interested in her: Pansy was smart, had a sharp and intelligent sense of humour, a _killer _sense of style, and _incredible _breasts. Who _wouldn’t _be interested, really?

Of course, until a few weeks ago, she would have assumed that Harry would have fallen into that category, but the man had actually managed to surprise her. Sure, she’d picked up on their mutual interest in expensive whiskey and being prats to each other, and if _pressed_ she might admit that she’d even considered taking him home on a few occasions before she wound up shagging him at Daphne’s flat, but she had completely and utterly failed to pick up on the fact that he also shared _that _interest.

Then again, another interest that her and Harry appeared to share was also _Daphne_, so really the whole thing fell together _quite _fortuitously, in Pansy’s opinion.

Striking another pose in the mirror, she decided that _yes, it’ll be this dress_, and set about finding a way of distracting herself from herself until it was an appropriate time to show up at Daphne’s.

* * *

Later, at Daphne’s, Pansy could have slapped her recent-past self for worrying, as it was pretty much obvious from the way that Daphne was _flirting _that she had the same intentions as Pansy herself.

“I like the colour, but the shape’s a bit… aggressive, in terms of the shop decor,” Pansy drawled, a glass of wine in her hand, a red-and-onyx statue wreathed with cruel-looking spikes the current center of their shared attention.

“Mm,” Dahpne agreed, “I can see that, yeah. What’s the vibe you’re shooting for, then?”

“Oh,” Pansy leaned forwards, elbows on the table (_as practiced), _“I’m thinking something _sensual, _maybe even a bit dangerous, you know?”

Daphne quirked an eyebrow in response, a hint of a smirk appearing on her upper lip. “Well, you’d be the expert there, I’m afraid.”

“Oh?”

“I’m sure you’ve noticed, but you’re _distinctly _more fashionable than I am, Pansy.”

_Oh. _

Pansy, as a rule, didn’t waste her time doing things that she wasn’t good at, which generally included “emotional support” and “being nice to other people”, but it wasn’t like she was _heartless _or anything. It was obvious that Daphne was concerned about something - perhaps another vestige of their days in Slytherin rearing its head – and it seemed that this concern had placed Pansy as a _threat _of some kind to the blonde.

“We all have our talents, darling, but I’d hardly say you’re exactly lagging behind on that front. Anyways, you’re much more of an artist than I could claim to be.”

_Yes, this is reassuring. _

Her attempt seemed to fail to land as she’d intended: instead, Daphne frowned, a look of actual _vulnerability _crossing her face. _Not old Slytherin habits, then_; someone who looked _weak _in that setting would have been chewed up and spit out in a heartbeat.

Inwardly, Pansy groaned, as she set her wine glass down and crossed the distance between Daphne and herself. She really, truly _wasn’t_ good at this “reassurance” bit, but _fuck it, _she’d give it a try, even so. If Daphne was still feeling tender about the last time that they’d discussed art together, then it was fair enough that she’d have to smooth over the remnants of that argument, right?

“Hey.” _Fuck_, Daphne actually looked like she might have a _tear _in her eye. “I mean it.” Pansy pushed into her, the embrace feeling more _intimate _somehow than the various sex acts they’d already engaged in, tilting Daphne’s chin down towards her own face with one hand, the other wrapped around the small of Daphne’s back.

The kiss the two women shared was brief, definitely not _chaste _by any means but lacking somewhat in the aggression or (even better, in Pansy’s opinion) _desperation _that their previous snogging sessions usually featured.

“You are actually a brilliant artist,” Pansy reiterated, “I think I was being a bit of a bint last time because, well,” _fuck, _“I was a bit intimidated. Or something.”

“Or something.” Daphne smirked – thankfully, seeming to have backed away from the edge of _crying _by Pansy’s efforts.

“Maybe it isn’t the spikey lad on the table there, but I seriously and actually want to display something of yours.” _Alright, Parkinson, you’ve got this – this is definitely how supporting a friend works._

“I’ll figure out something more… sensual, right?”

“Love, you won’t have a hard time with that,” Pansy brought her hand down firmly on Daphne’s arse to punctuate this statement, which brought a small yelp that turned into a giggle out of the blonde.

_Nailed it. Definitely just friends being friends._

* * *

As it turned out, one of Daphne’s preferred methods of unwinding – which she’d decided to invite Pansy to share – was to get stoned in a warm bath.

Pansy found this experience utterly _delightful,_ her head swimming in a _thoroughly _enjoyable way from the weed (Daphne’s boast that she had _“good shit” _was certainly not in vain), the heat of the tub, and the bottle of wine that the two had split.

It didn’t hurt that she was stretched out against Daphne, the two witches seated so that they were side-by-side with their legs extended alongside the other, allowing them to talk face-to-face. The occasional moments when their skin would rub against each other were _electrifying_.

Pansy might even have admitted that she was _giggly_, though _surely _that was due to the influence of the drugs, and had nothing to do with how surprisingly comfortable it was to just spend time with Daphne, telling old stories about their respective experiences as Slytherins and making fun of all the various stuck-up prats that they’d encountered along the way.

“Nah,” Pansy continued her story, “Draco and I were never really _really _together, not the way that everyone thought. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a good enough lad and all, but it was pretty much all for show from about, uh, fourth year on.”

“Fuck,” Daphne giggled, “_I’ve _snogged Draco. I’m honestly shocked that you haven’t!”

Pansy snorted a laugh, one which threatened to descend into giggles of her own. “He’s pretty enough, but that’s not really what I like in boys, yeah? Once I figured out that I was into witches too, it seems counterproductive to go for the pretty boys when women are just _better _at it.”

“Oh, you like the big, rough brutes, yeah?” Daphne was blushing a bit, which was _definitely _proving Pansy’s theory correct.

“Definitely,” Pansy wasn’t able to prevent herself from breaking into giggles, continuing as she recovered, “that’s certainly how I’d describe Harry, giant of a man that he is.”

“When’d you figure it out?” Daphne asked, and Pansy had to circle the question a few times in her head before she landed on an answer.

“That I wanted to shag Harry? Uh, I guess a few weeks ago when it became plausible, but I suppose it had crossed my mind a time or two before. Maybe a couple times in fourth year, when he flew around a dragon and all.”

Daphne laughed and smacked Pansy’s leg gently. “No, when you figured out you liked women too. That realization came before I figured out that I was into blokes, for me.”

Pansy actually had to think about this.

“Y’know… probably around fourth year, now that I’m thinking back on it. I remember that I couldn’t stop paying attention to that Veela girl, but I thought I was just jealous at the time.”

“Understandable!” Daphne snorted, “I think that pretty much _anyone _would be jealous of Fleur Delacour.”

“Pfft, you don’t have to be.” Pansy’s compliment left her lips before she realized she was saying it, and she felt her skin flush in a way that she couldn’t entirely write off as due to the warm bath. “I mean, yeah, you’re both tall gorgeous blondes, right?”

Daphne’s returning blush soothed Pansy’s brief moment of panic, but she still wanted to regain control over the topic at hand.

“Anyways, part of being Draco’s ‘betrothed’ was that I got to hear all his family stories, which were _great _up until it started being all ‘I can’t tell you that, Pans’ or ‘It’s in service to my Lord’ and all that dark magic _fuckery_.” She continued.

“Oh?” Daphne was being _infuriatingly _and _adorably _coy.

“Did’ya know that his mother _still_ doesn’t know what ickle Draco’s first words were?” Pansy stifled a laugh.

“What? How’s that even possible? I knew they were some of the more head-in-arse purebloods, but even so that seems-“

“_MY FATHER WILL HEAR ABOUT THIS,” _Pansy cried, in her best Draco imitation.

The two women stared at each other for a beat, before both broke out into laughter.

* * *

_Okay, it’s not just “being friends”._

One of the pitfalls of being a witch who shagged witches that Pansy had never _quite _learned how to navigate was that sometimes, shared nudity was just… casual nudity, with nothing sexual behind the state. The bath that Daphne and her had shared was one of these occasions, where even though they’d slept together and were naked together, neither of them seemed to have sex on the mind at that time.

As soon as they’d left the tub, it turned into a scenario that was _definitely _sexually motivated.

She’d been toweling her legs when Daphne had swept behind her, the blonde’s hands gripping Pansy’s breasts.

“Maybe you have some Veela in you, you know,” Daphne whispered in her ear, her voice husky, “with _these _tits.”

Not the smoothest line that Pansy had ever heard, but _fuck _it worked in the moment. An entirely unrestrained groan escaped her lips as Daphne pressed a kiss against the side of her neck, holding Pansy tight enough against her own body to prevent the brunette’s brief attempt at turning around.

When one of Daphne’s hands trailed lower, between Pansy’s legs, she was already wet in a way that could _not _be explained by the bath they’d shared.

Pansy came before they even made it into Daphne’s bedroom, where she’d knelt between the blonde’s legs, trailing kisses up her _glorious _thighs, pressing her tongue gently against Daphne’s clit, finding that she was somehow even _wetter _than Pansy herself was. Their moans were practically in concert as Pansy set about _devouring _her lover, alternating between deep, slow licks and light, fast flicks of her tongue, Daphne muttering a stream of praise and winding her fingers into Pansy’s hair.

Almost as soon as she’d brought Daphne to her own orgasm, Pansy found herself being lifted onto the bed, enjoying the surprising show of strength from Daphne – _definitely a plus of being with a tall woman – _allowing herself to be laid down against Daphne’s sheets.

When Daphne began to lower her head between Pansy’s legs, her typical enjoyment of _authority _in the bedroom reasserted itself, briefly.

“Wait,” She said, her voice shaky.

Daphne looked up, the ghost of concern flashing across her features.

“_Turn around.” _Pansy commanded.

Daphne smirked, but she listened, reorienting herself to swing a leg over Pansy’s head, and Pansy was _nowhere _near patient enough to wait any longer, gripping Daphne’s spectacular arse firmly as she raised her head back to Daphne’s dripping sex.

Not that Daphne was idle: after a muttered “_fuck me_”, she shoved Pansy’s legs open, and immediately pressed her tongue _inside _Pansy, whose moan was muffled by her own activities.

Pansy considered herself to be fairly lucky that she was fully capable of multiple orgasms, but she was _nowhere _near as gifted on that front as Daphne. Though she fully believed in her own skills at eating pussy, it seemed to take mere seconds for her to make the blonde cum again, though – _fuck me – _Pansy wasn’t exactly far behind on her equivalent second orgasm.

Daphne turned off of her perch, huffing, as she crawled around to face Pansy, lying on top of her. _This _kiss, compared to the first of the evening, was nothing even _resembling _chaste – just as Pansy could taste herself on Daphne’s tongue, she knew that the blonde could also taste _herself_, and this thought was so erotic that when Daphne’s fingers pressed inside of her, the tall witch thrusting and pushing against her as she _fucked _Pansy, that her _third _orgasm of the night came thundering directly on the tails of the second.

Though it might only have been the span of perhaps a dozen minutes, if that, it definitely marked one of the absolute best times that Pansy had _ever _had sex.

Then again, the top two spots were inarguably claimed by times that Daphne had also participated in… _fuck. Fuck. _

Pansy’s moment of realization – thankfully – came _after_ she'd finished shagging Daphne, because the brief panic that set in as she realized that this was _really _beginning to challenge the boundaries of “friends with benefits” would probably have spoiled the mood.

“I should get home,” she muttered.

“Don’t be silly,” Daphne murmured against her ear. “Stay.”

Even with this recent realization in mind, Pansy couldn’t find a reason to argue.

* * *

She’d slipped out reasonably early in the morning, making some excuse or another about having to check on the shop that afternoon, kissing Daphne goodbye despite her instincts screaming at her.

As a rule, Pansy Parkinson did not do things that she wasn’t good at.

Relationships were _certainly _one of those things.

Somehow, though, she was stepping over her own rules, completely bypassing the boundaries and walls that usually kept her safe from these kinds of things, and apparently all it took was the fucking _Ice Queen _and the _Golden Gryffindor Boy_ to do so.

_Ugh_. She hadn’t even thought about Harry in her moments of concern, but that was another fucking problem altogether. When things had first kicked off, she’d assumed that Harry would have been the first to make things weird, to get overly _emotional _or – worse – _attached_, but here she was mooning about not only Daphne (maybe she could write off the _thoughts _she’d had the night before as due to sex and weed) but the man who hadn’t even been present for the night’s activities.

Which was completely and utterly fucking _insane _of her to even consider. Pansy Parkinson did not fucking _date _people, she fucked them and then either she or they would eventually get bored of that arrangement, and that was fine. _How the _fuck _would that even work? Three people?_

No, if anyone was going to wind up coalescing together due to this… _arrangement_, it would undoubtedly be Daphne and Harry, right? Not the fucked-up Slag of Slytherin who had never actually _been _in a relationship, but the two goody-two-shoes types who had come out of the Second Wizarding War as heroes (or at least on the right side), yeah?

“Good night, eh?” A rough voice interrupted her panicked musings.

“Some would say,” Pansy answered Blaise, who had completely and utterly caught her returning to their shared flat at a distinctly “_walk of shame”_ hour. “Where’s your hanger-on?”

“Mm,” Blaise was… uncharacteristically serious. “Michel had to go back to France. Short notice.”

“Oh?” Pansy blinked, wishing that her head was clearer than it was.

“Yeah. The Delacours are gathering their forces, I guess one of them is getting a divorce.”

_Fuck._ Blaise’s turn of phrase might well have been _literal_, given how rare and how serious Magical Divorces were. “What happened?”

“No fucking idea,” Blaise answered. “give me a cigarette.” Pansy wasn’t one to argue, fishing a pair from her smoke, lighting hers after Blaise had taken a deep drag from his. “I’m not sure who it is, and I don’t think they’re _actually _going to war over it, but apparently one of the Delacour women called for a divorce.”

“That doesn’t _happen, _Blaise.” Magical marriages were _significantly _more serious than their muggle equivalents: one of the _many _ways in which Pansy had realized that Pureblood society served to particularly keep _witches _at a disadvantage.

“I know. Like I said, I don’t know the details yet, but… yeah.”

The wheels span at a frantic rate in Pansy’s head, trying to figure out what this could mean – it was almost certain that whatever had happened wouldn’t impact her _at all_, but still, this felt like a big deal for magical society in general: marriages often contained vows equivalent in nature to the fearsome Unbreakable variety, and if that were the case… then some French witch was willing to forsake _magic _rather than continue her marriage.

“So, then, Michel?” Pansy floated the question as gently as she could. For all that Blaise had an utterly unshakable self-confidence, she had _never _known him to grow attached to one of his lovers in anything resembling a “relationship”… and yet, now that she thought about it, the French man had literally been living in their flat for weeks at this point.

“Yeah, Pans.” Blaise smiled, though the remnants of concern lingered in his eyes. “We’re giving it a shot. Dating. A relationship.” He waved his cigarette through the air as if conducting. “The real deal.”

_Fuck. Things _are _changing. _

“I’ll get the liquor,” She drawled – she couldn’t show _too _much enthusiasm or it would be unseemly, but this was abso-fucking-lutely something she wanted to celebrate. 

“_The real deal”_. _Huh. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why would things be easy, right?
> 
> I'd love to hear comments on this chapter and how this sequel as a whole is going so far!


	11. Comedy of Manners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry starts to dip his toes into some aspects of Pureblood Politics, primarily as a means of divesting himself of responsibility - but also has a particularly salient realization about his unique relationship requirements forced on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All plot, no smut!

Harry

Harry supposed that it was something of a triumph that he _wasn’t _the most drunk person at his birthday, watching Ron and Neville standing side-by-side, their arms thrown over each others’ shoulders, belting out some old Gryffindor cheer song from their Hogwarts days.

Even though the two men were being – objectively – a bit too ridiculous, Harry couldn’t help but smile. It had fallen into Hermione’s hands (naturally) to plan an _event _for Harry’s birthday, as he’d been more than happy to just let the day slip by without particular pomp _or _circumstance attached to it, but Hermione had thought that this was “absurd”, “ridiculous”, and “you’re doing the ‘don’t make a big deal out of me’ thing again, Harry”, in order.

She might – _might _– have had something of a point with the last bit, but it wasn’t exactly _absurd _that Harry figured a lot of his friends were busy: Draco and Ginny weren’t even in the country (honeymoon), Astoria was feeling under the weather apparently, and Fleur had been out of touch entirely since shortly after the Malfoy wedding.

Even counting those who had made an appearance (which Harry was certainly grateful for), most of the couples had disappeared fairly early into the night’s festivities. This also made sense to Harry: some like Remus and Tonks had to get back to their families, others like Seamus and Parvati were eager to go practice starting their families (if managing to get kicked out of the Leaky Cauldron for their very public snogging session was any indicator, at least), and it was safe to assume that George and Angelina had _something _more interesting to do than sit around a pub with Harry.

He wondered – briefly – if this was an early warning sign about the life he was leading, if the fact that people were beginning to pair off and separate from the open social circles into their own lives was a phenomenon which, by his own efforts to _avoid _“pairing off”, was going to leave him behind.

Then again… it wasn’t like he’d been much of a participant in “socializing” outside of his own particular circles, and excepting the fact that Daphne and Pansy had been spending a surprising amount of time with him (individually or, _thrillingly_, together), he really hadn’t made many efforts to expand this circle. Even now, his birthday party had turned into a makeshift DA reunion more than anything, with the attendance almost universally composed of people who he’d fought alongside at Hogwarts.

“Y’know, Hermione, I’ve been thinking,” Harry started, finally kicking himself into action to bring up the suggestion he’d been thinking of for a while, “I pretty much trust you unconditionally, yeah?”

“Yeah?” Hermione’s confusion was evident on her face. Though she wasn’t one to get _drunk _and would be insulted at the suggestion, the slight blush that sat on her cheeks and _especially _in her ears would indicate that the several glasses of wine she’d drunk had _some _impact on her. “What’re you getting at, Harry?”

“Well, er,” He sipped at his ale, feeling a bit awkward, “I figure that, y’know, I’m not doing much in politics, so why don’t I give you the chance to do something about that, hey?”

Hermione snorted a laugh. “Harry, if this is a marriage proposal, it’s all three of poorly planned, poorly timed, and poorly delivered.”

He laughed in return. While it was certainly true that he had no idea what he’d do with himself without Hermione’s presence in his life, Harry knew full well that the both of them would have to become _considerably _more desperate in order to ever consider marrying the other – the bond they shared was simply absent of any _romantic _energy. “No, ‘mione, obviously not that,” Harry chuckled, “I meant that since you know what you’re doing more than I do anyways, why don’t I make you my representative at the Wizengamot?”

“Harry, you,” Hermione paused, as if thinking, “…might have a point, but that can’t be as easy to pull off as you’re thinking. I know, you’re _very powerful _and all that,” the roll of her eyes made it clear how much respect Hermione paid to these Wizarding traditions, “but the fact is, there’s still anti-muggleborn prejudice even now, it can’t be a simple thing to let me vote on behalf of _two _noble houses.”

_Hmm, _he thought, sipping from his ale in consideration once more. _Daphne seemed to think that it would be no big deal, but then again, I didn’t mention that it would be _Hermione_ representing me… but Daphne’s smart enough to have figured that out, right? _“Oi, Sue?” Harry called out across the table where they were seated, “got a question for you!”

“What’s up?” The redhead woman answered. Susan Bones wasn’t really one of Harry’s _closest _friends, but they’d definitely grown closer since leaving Hogwarts than they’d been at school, no doubt partly thanks to the fact that her and Hermione were the loudest voices for reform of Wizarding society – though Susan made this voice known in the Wizengamot itself, as the Lady of House Bones.

“Political bullshite!” Harry answered, cheerfully, “I’d like to give Hermione the rights to represent me at votes and whatnot, but I’m not entirely sure what the process is there.”

“Oh, you’ve finally started to give a fuck about your Noble houses?” Susan responded, one of her eyebrows quirked. Another reason that Harry enjoyed her company – she was completely and utterly unconcerned with “decorum” or other forms of propriety, preferring to simply say what she was thinking in a very “former Hufflepuff” kind of way.

Not that she was a woman to be taken lightly: few families had suffered worse than the Bones house had in the last war, and yet Susan was the sole member left standing at the end. While she was friendly, upbeat, and uncomplicated, she was also a _hard _woman, and one of the few areas where Hermione and her had diverged politically was Susan’s unwillingness to forgive any of the houses implicated with dark magic.

“Well, I’ve figured it might be better to pass it along to someone who _does _give a fuck, at least,” Harry answered.

“I assume you aren’t getting married,” Susan giggled, “so that makes it a bit trickier to name her as your representative. Hermione, have you claimed Right of Founding or anything?”

“I, uh, don’t know what that is,” Hermione admitted, her blush intensifying – pureblood traditions remained one of the extremely limited areas that she _wasn’t_ an expert in.

“That’s a no, then! Well, that’s not that bad anyways, you’ll probably just need to swear yourself as a vassal to the Houses Potter and Black, then you can attend the Wizengamot under duty to your liege.” Susan explained.

“That seems a bit…” Harry started.

“Patronizing and elitist? Definitely!” The cheerful redhead (though her hair was a deeper crimson than the Weasley’s – _Auburn_? Harry pondered) took a deep pull of her own ale, setting the mug back down. “There’s fucking _loads _of complete and utter bollocks still hanging around because it’s _oh-so-traditional, _yeah? It might actually be better that way, though, since she’d have a harder time actually being able to cast your votes if she was also representing her own house.”

Harry met Hermione’s eyes, briefly regretting his choice to bring this up to Susan. The Lady Bones was certainly the _expert _in these matters, but “these matters” were… byzantine, sexist, and frustrating – even to Harry’s “powerful male Head of House(s)” perspective.

“So how d’we do that, then?” Harry inquired, “the, uh, vassal thing?”

“Well, you need Hermione to swear a vow of vassalage to you, but the terms there are pretty much whatever you feel like, so you can avoid most of the typical obligations or contractual traps, luckily. Then you’d need three other Houses to recognize your vow, and _presto,” _Susan mimed a muggle’s version of a magical spell, wiggling her fingers dramatically, “Hermione can vote on behalf of houses Black and Potter.”

“Three houses? That doesn’t seem simple,” Harry protested.

“Are you kidding me, Potter?” Susan laughed _at _him this time, and he felt a bit of a blush rising at his neck, “Sure, you can’t use your houses to witnesses for each other, but you’re one, I’m two, and I’m sure we can find a third literally at this pub,” she explained, waving her hand, “seriously, you have Lady Lovegood, Heir Longbottom, Heir-Consort Greengrass, and Heir-Successor Macmillan in attendance, and that’s not even counting us, Lord Potter-Black.”

_In other words, Luna, Neville, Ron, and Ernie, _Harry thought, shaking his head. It was almost bizarre in retrospect how many heirs to various families wound up in the same Hogwarts year, this (already lengthy) list didn’t even account for the various Slytherin-associated families, such as the heir to House Parksinson and former heiress of House Greengrass that Harry was casually shagging these days.

“Luna!” Sue called across the pub, “C’mere a minute!”

“I hardly think that now is the time to-“ Hermione began to protest, before she was cut off by the _force _that was Susan Bones.

“Pshaw! This isn’t a big deal, why not?”

“What’s not a big deal?” Luna inquired dreamily, both hands clutched around a _complicated _looking beverage, complete with a long, swirling straw.

“Harry wants to recognize Hermione as a vassal to his houses, so she can vote for him,” Susan explained.

“Oh, yes, that seems logical!” Luna smiled peacefully, as she made her way to Harry’s side of the table and then basically sat in his lap, which brought his mind back into focus very quickly. Sure, Luna was a very attractive woman, and Harry couldn’t honestly say that he’d _never _thought about her in that way… but this seemed a little more intimate than Luna (touchy-feely though she was) would usually act.

If either Susan or Hermione noticed this change in his demeanour, they were doing excellent jobs at hiding their reaction – maybe he was just overreacting because in his recent history, a woman perching on his lap had led to _significantly _different actions than some kind of Pureblood magic.

“Alright,” Susan began, drawling in a way which suggested she was well past her first flagon of ale, “Y’want any particular oaths to swear, or just something simple and open ended?”

“Simple is best, I’d imagine,” Hermione answered, “right, Harry?”

“Er, yeah,” Harry answered, as Luna shifted on his legs. She wasn’t exactly planted on his _lap _per se, but her body weight was at least mostly perched by his knees, and he was having a hard time ignoring the way that her arse felt against him even there. _Pansy’s made me into a beast, _he thought, which immediately led to a second, more panicked realization: _wait, no, Pansy hasn’t “made me” anything, it’s just a casual, not serious thing, yeah? Daphne too, for that matter…_

“Good, yeah!” Susan practically cheered, bouncing in her seat – which Harry couldn’t help but notice did _fascinating _things to Sue’s considerable cleavage, as he realized that her shirt had been unbuttoned partly…

_No need to make things weird, _he reprimanded himself, _you’re a bit randy or something but it’s probably just awkward timing, nothing about Luna or Sue, yeah?_

“Alright, ‘Mione, say your name, then repeat this oath: “I swear to ally myself to houses Potter and Black, so long as our goals align. Harry, when she’s done, you’re going to say your name, and swear that you recognize her oath and accept her as your vassal.”

“Yeah, right, gotcha,” Harry answered, his heart racing as Luna leaned back into him and he realized that her hair smelled of lavender flowers.

“I, Hermione Granger, swear to ally myself to Houses Potter and Black, so long as our goals align,” Hermione announced, her voice clear and strong in a way that sent a tingle of magic running up Harry’s spine.

“I, Harry Potter-Black, recognize your oath and accept Hermione Granger as my vassal,” Harry replied, the words seeming to spill from his mouth without hesitation or needing to think about it – _yeah, this is magic in action, _he recognized.

“House Lovegood recognizes this oath,” Luna said, a note of seriousness carried on her normally-cheerful voice.

“House Bones recognizes this oath,” Susan intoned, her voice practically _booming _with magic despite the actual _volume _not being that frightening, “So mote it be.”

A moment passed, and Harry practically _felt _something take effect, but if any of the others involved in this vow had noticed, they were being subtle about it.

“Yay, Hermione!” Luna cheerfully cried, leaning across the bench (her hips thankfully leaving Harry’s legs – he didn’t want to have to keep wrestling with _those _thoughts any longer) to hug Hermione, “now you can finally do something with all the power Harry’s just left sitting around!”

_What._

“I, er,” Harry scratched the back of his head, “I didn’t know you cared about that stuff, Luna,”

“Oh, _I_ don’t,” Luna replied, just as cheerful while apparently admonishing Harry, “but as Lady Lovegood? I kinda have to, yeah?”

“Politics aren’t as kind to women as they are to men of your stature, Harry,” Susan explained, practically _chugging _the rest of her ale, “if either Luna or myself were to sit idle and assume that we could get away with it… we’d wind up with the power stripped away from our houses themselves.”

“That’s… utterly unfair.” Harry was surprised, he knew that it was harder for female heads of house, but not to _that _extent.

“Yep!” Luna agreed, “there’s a whole bunch unfair about the whole thing! Getting married is going to be a real challenge for Susan and I both, for example!”

“Why?” Hermione questioned, and Harry recognized the look on her face as she discovered a new Thing that she could fight against.

“Well,” Susan began, “whoever Luna or I marry is going to have to give up their own claims to their own house, like Ron did when he married Astoria, yeah? Not a lot of men are willing to do that, and there’s many more that would rather try and claim House Bones for themselves, right?”

“So don’t marry a man like _that_,” Hermione replied, aghast.

“I dunno if you’ve noticed, but there isn’t exactly a catalogue of bachelors available,” Susan elaborated, “Lord Potter-Black here is the most notable one, for sure, but even if I married Harry I’d have to choose between giving up my own house, or letting him take control over it.”

“I wouldn’t-“ Harry started, before catching himself – it seemed foolish to discuss what he might or might not do if he married _Susan_. _Not that I’d _mind_, _he thought, _but I don’t think I’m her type – _the Lady Bones was generally _speculated _to enjoy the company of other witches to the exclusion of wizards.

“So, yeah,” Susan waved her hand, as if dismissing the implications at the same time, “we’re stuck with finding the scions of a minor house who don’t mind being the Consort of Bones, or Lovegood, or otherwise letting our houses wither away.”

“What about,” Hermione scrunched her face, “marrying a muggleborn? I mean, I certainly didn’t know about all these expectations!”

“Oh, Hermione,” Luna explained, a sad note in her voice, “marrying a muggleborn man means that we’d surrender our house entirely, you _know _how sexist Magical society is.”

_Yup, this is the new Thing_, Harry realized, as he saw a determined look of _anger _settle into Hermione’s expression. Not that he blamed her – he hadn’t realized just how unfair this “Lordship” and “heirs” thing was, either.

“Then there’s men like Harry,” Luna continued, “who have the opposite problem entirely: you’ll have to find yourself _two _wives, of course!”

_What._

** _What._ **

“Er, Luna,” Harry tried to find the words, flabbergasted, “what?”

“It’s common sense, Harry,” Susan explained, as if he should have already known this, “You’re the Lord of two lines, so you’ll need two wives, to produce two separate lineages. Unless you intend to condense your lines into House Potter-Black, but then you’d be giving up some of your Wizengamot votes, of course.”

_Two wives for two lines? _Harry thought, _Wait, _Two _lines? **Fuck. **_

“Uh, heh,” Harry was struck wordless, trying to chuckle to disperse the awkward tension causing his heartrate to skyrocket, “you’re messing with me, right? How has nobody ever mentioned this before?”

“Harry… everyone who’s an heir learns about this when we’re children,” Luna patted his arm as if to reassure him, “I sure assumed that you knew what you were doing when you publicly claimed your heirship to House Black…”

_Harry Potter and Knowing What he’s Doing, _Harry thought, as if his life were a book that he could give title to, _that’s the unlikeliest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. _

_Still._

_Two wives, hey? Might come in handy if they already get along with each other this well… _

Harry brushed off the worries of his future _marriages _with a laugh, the return of a _spectacularly _drunk Ronald Weasley (though given the recent conversation, Harry supposed that “Ronald Greengrass-Weasely” was technically more accurate) to the table, and vague thoughts of a head of blonde hair and one of black hair resting against his chest.

* * *

Come Monday, Harry had almost entirely succeeded at drowning out all memory of the whole “two wives” thing (_two_, right, yeah), embedding himself back in his work in a way that was _completely and totally normal, _not at all “manic” or “an obvious means of ignoring your worries”, yeah?

Not that this means of approaching his work was unsuccessful: he was fairly certain that he’d managed to untangle the actual trail of galleons that Robards had half-heartedly asked him to chase down, this particular investigation not rising to the level of an “official Auror matter” yet, but… if Harry was right, it would become so as soon as he met with the Head Auror the next day.

For all their brilliance in many aspects of law enforcement, the Aurors didn’t seem to have the slightest fucking idea on how to deal with _financial _crimes, a weakness that Harry knew generally extended throughout Wizarding society in general. There were definitely upsides to leaving banking (as an industry) in the hands of the Goblins – magically talented at sums and security alike that they were – but the downside to this reliance was that Goblins didn’t give the _slightest_ shite where galleons came from, so long as their vaults were full and their payments on-time.

This, of course, left absolutely _gaping _holes in the magical world’s financial sector, where money laundering, various schemes, and generally immoral-to-illegal means of generating wealth were all available as options that Gringotts wouldn’t step in to prevent, leaving it in the apparently-unprepared hands of the aurors.

For example, the current case: Dung Fletcher was running around, selling off minor artifacts or trinkets once again, but Harry had come to believe that he was actually _advertising _instead of working as a black market dealer himself – the real sums of money being exchanged seemed to travel in roads that led back to one _Mr_. Wesley Rosier, a cousin of the ones who had lost their lives in service to Dark Magic during the various Wizarding Wars.

Harry was _reasonably _certain that this Mr. Rosier was stockpiling and selling dark artifacts, and that various forms of scum like Dung were merely useful pawns, rather than anyone who could actually lead back to this ringleader. For all the obvious flaws in their economic system, the DMLE had at least picked up that _something _was unusual about how wealthy Rosier had become in short order, but there was no means of trying to get him to provide income statements or tax returns as the Muggle world might – everything was in the hands of Gringotts.

_Hmm, I _could _probably get those records… _Harry thought, before deciding against it – the title of “Friend of the Goblin Nation” was one that had come at a fairly steep cost to begin with, and he suspected that “friend” or not, they wouldn’t look favorably on Harry digging into the vaults of one of their clients.

No, he’d have to track down a means of getting at Rosier’s records through a collaborator of some sort, so Harry had focused his attention on various deeds and rental contracts throughout Diagon and Knockturn alleys alike, finding some names that seemed to repeat themselves - including one he tried to ignore - but the more he delved, the more he found that he _couldn’t _ignore the name which kept showing up.

_Parkinson_.

* * *

The next day, Harry paced from once side of Robard’s office to the other, the man sitting behind his desk, poring over Harry’s reports, before glancing up with an amused expression on his face.

“Sit down, Harry, for Merlin’s sake. You’re going to wear a path in my floor.”

“Right. Sorry,” Harry collapsed into the desk chair, “er, Sir.”

“Enough of that,” Robards set Harry’s report – hand-written, on ensorcelled parchment – on his desk, “I think you’re onto something. We’re going to put eyes on Rosier and Parkinson, but for now I think that this case would be best served if you kept investigating along these lines.”

“I, er,” Harry swallowed, his voice catching in his throat due to nerves. “I can’t. I’m removing myself from this case, Sir.”

Gawain Robards stared Harry down impassively, the silence stretching out and fraying Harry’s nerves worse than he’d felt when he first made the decision to include his suspicion that one Penrose Parkinson II was working as Rosier’s financier in a conspiracy to distribute dark artifacts.

Penrose was _also_ the father of Pansy, of course.

“Oh?” Robards finally broke the silence, an eyebrow arched in curiosity.

“I’m familiar with one of the families involved in my report,” Harry stared at the desk, feeling a flush creeping up his neck, “I don’t want to bring any bias in.”

“Harry, most everyone in our society knows each other to some degree or another, you’re very noble and all but this sounds like an over-reaction to me,” Robards replied, shutting him down, “unless you’ve started carrying on with the Parkinsons, then I don’t think there’s a problem.”

Harry didn’t answer, the flush spreading from his neck to his ears.

“Oh. You _are _involved with the Parkinsons, then? Surely,” Robards was being _infuriatingly _dense for someone who was supposed to be the best that the Aurors had to offer, “your occasional interactions with Pansy Parkinson at social events don’t warrant you removing yourself. The casual acquaintance you have with their daughter doesn’t impact this case, the way I see it.”

“I know her better than that,” Harry mumbled.

“Eh?” Harry was considering how feasible it was to transfigure Robards into some kind of rodent, escape Britain, and never have to deal with the awkwardness of this conversation. Realizing that he couldn’t escape the trap he’d set for _himself, _Harry finally answered.

“…I know her intimately.”

There was a moment that stretched out into an _agonizingly _long wait as Harry’s heart beat in his ears, before Robards shocked him with an outburst of laughter.

“Ha! Won me five galleons, you have!”

“I, er, what?” Harry was too stunned to think.

“Harry, _all of magical society _has seen you and Parkinson flirting with each other at different events over the last couple years. It’s not exactly a shock, but I _do _appreciate that you were up-front about this. I suppose I will have to accept that you’re off this case,” the Head Auror continued, “but if we get to the point where we’re raiding Rosier, I want you there, right?”

“Uh, yeah, f’sure,” Harry muttered, his mind whirling.

_Pansy and I were “flirting”? _He thought to himself, still off-kilter. _How long has she even been interested in me? Did I miss out on something obvious? _Am _I missing out on something obvious even now?_

Either the ongoing “relationship” with Pansy was one that carried more weight than Harry had realized _or _he was ascribing more seriousness to it than he should be, but either way, Harry was left with the distinct feeling that he was in over his head – without even thinking of how Daphne was added to the mix.

_Still, even if I’m in over my head, there’s worse ways to drown_, he thought, a smile creeping onto his face despite himself. _Two wives, yeah? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the most "establishing background details" chapter of this story, being entirely focused on setting and with only the hints of plot events to come - with that said, I'm curious to see what readers have picked up on in this chapter, as there's a *lot* of little bits that I intend to foreshadow later plot developments :P


	12. Melodrama (Daphne/Harry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daphne and Harry celebrate Harry's birthday (belatedly), Pansy meets someone, and the Prophet publishes an article

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of experimentation in formatting in this chapter - I know that wizards and witches wouldn't actually be using emoticons in their messages, so pretend that Daphne's versions of these are little sketched faces showing the appropriate emotion! The formatting of their enchanted notebooks as (essentially) a chat room is also just a conceit for my own convenience :P 
> 
> Multiple POVs in one chapter for the first time in a while! What fun awaits?

Daphne

_Sunday Evening_

[Your Conversation with **Harry**]  
**You:** _Hey  
_**You:** _How was the rest of your weekend?_

**Harry:** Hey Daph  
**Harry:** It was good. Went for some drinks on Saturday, got some work done, pretty decent all around.  
**Harry:** You?

**You:** _That sounds nice! What was the occasion?  
_**You:** _I saw Pans on Saturday ;) Too bad you were busy!_

**Harry:** Yeah, it was a short notice kind of thing, really  
**Harry:** It was my birthday party, I guess

**You:** _…  
_**You:** _Were you planning on letting us know that it was your birthday?_

**Harry:** Uh  
**Harry:** I didn’t think it was a big deal, really

[Your Conversation with **Pansy**]  
**You: ** _Did you know that it was Harry’s birthday this weekend??_

**Pansy:** Hello. No, I wasn’t aware. Is he mad that I made plans with you that didn’t involve him?

**You:** _No, nothing like that – he’s saying it’s not a big deal_

**Pansy:** Oh. Yes. That makes sense for Harry.

**You:** _???  
_**You:** _I think I’m missing something here, how is a birthday not a big deal?_

**Pansy:** Do you think Harry would expect it to be?  
**Pansy:** He’s all “oh no don’t make a fuss about me.”  
**Pansy:** Makes sense. That he wouldn’t want a big celebration. Or wouldn’t think to tell us.

[Your Group Conversation with **Harry** and **Pansy**]  
**You:** _Harry Potter  
_**You:** _You git  
_**You:** _We __JUST__ had that whole conversation about fantasies and all  
_**You:** _And you didn’t think to tell us  
_**You:** _That it was your birthday coming up  
_**You:** _We have to fix that :)_

**Harry:** Uh, well  
**Harry:** I wasn’t thinking about it, I guess?  
**Harry:** …I’ve never really had birthday sex as its own special thing, I suppose

**Pansy:** Shocking.  
**Pansy:** I bet you even tried to stop people buying you drinks.

**Harry:** Uh  
**Harry: **Yeah, I guess  
**Harry:** How did you know that?

**Pansy:** Because you’re an entirely too-noble prat.

**You:** _It’s not hard to figure out because you’re being __WAY__ too self-effacing, what with the whole “oh no don’t bother about me” thing  
_**You:** _Yeah, that too, Pans.  
_**You:** _Anyways, it’s not a “pile on Harry” moment or anything, but I __DO__ want to know what you’d like for your birthday present ;)_

**Harry:** I mean  
**Harry:** …  
**Harry:** I hadn’t really thought about it? You’re both great, I like everything we’ve been doing?

**Pansy:** We don’t want to always be the ones coming up with every scenario. Use your imagination, Potter.  
**Pansy:** I’m not free until Friday. Not that I mind, if you two see each other without me. Just in case. If you were planning on me being there, Daph.

**Harry:** I’m free Tuesday?  
**Harry:** And Saturday, actually.

**You:** _Okay  
_**You:** _I’m coming over Tuesday, Harry  
_**You:** _Then we’ll make plans for Saturday including Pansy ;)_  
**You:** _Pans, I’ll see if I can coax some imagination out of this lummox_

**Harry:** Hey  
**Harry:** That’s entirely too accurate

**You:** _:)_

* * *

_Tuesday Evening  
_

“So,” Daphne spoke, “I just wanted to be clear, I’m not trying to push you into anything.”

“Yeah, I know,” Harry answered, as he looked at her with an expression that was somewhere between “confused” and “amused”.

“It’s just… I’m really not as experienced as you or Pansy, so I don’t know what I’m doing as much as you two.”

“Experienced?” Harry’s expression now shifted much closer to “confusion”, “Daph, I’m hardly an expert either here, I’ve been with… maybe a dozen women?”

_Oh, _she thought, _that _is _actually much lower than I expected. _

“It’s not that I’m not interested, y’know,” Harry continued, “it’s just that I never really had many particularly… _detailed _fantasies, yeah?”

“Well, that’s what I want to help with, Harry,” Daphne answered, shrugging her coat off her shoulders. She was _very _pleased that Harry openly gawked at her as he took in the bright-red set of lingerie she was wearing underneath. “I’m not _expecting _anything from you, but if you want to do something, just tell me, okay?”

“I, uh, yeah, uh,” Harry stammered, his gaze still focused on her body, which brought a smirk to Daphne’s lips.

“For now, I think you should unwrap your birthday present,” she told him, as she sauntered towards him.

“Or,” Harry started, running his tongue over his lips, “actually, I think you should unwrap _yourself_.”

“Oh?” Daphne asked, smiling, slowly sliding one of the straps of her bra down her shoulder, “then _you _should put some music on.”

Harry’s taste in “music to give a striptease to”, was, as it turned out, kind of straightforward: after some mumbled excuses he scampered off to start a Led Zeppelin record playing, which wouldn’t have been Daphne’s first choice, but it worked.

* * *

Harry

_Tuesday Evening_

A noise started and died in the back of Harry’s throat as Daphne gripped him by the front of his shirt, leaned in to kiss him, then just as suddenly began to push him backwards towards his bed. She shoved him hard enough against the frame that he flopped into a half-sprawled, half-seated position at the foot of the bed, any protests that he could imagine quickly put to rest by the fact that she had also begun her striptease.

“Fuck…” He muttered under his breath, his hand going to his neck to loosen the tie he’d still been wearing when Daphne had greeted him.

Daphne was _hypnotic _to watch. Harry almost regretted his choice of background soundtrack (he was far from an expert in the world of music, whether it was magical or muggle bands) but if Daphne didn’t have any cause to complain, he _certainly _didn’t. His eyes were locked to her hips, which she was writhing back and forth sensually, the strips of red fabric she was wearing just barely serving to cover her.

As she approached him and ran her fingertips down the front of his chest, Harry couldn’t help but shudder.

“Mm, enjoying the show that much?” Daphne teased, leaning forward to press his face between her breasts. Harry reached around her waist to grab her arse with both hands, which produced a _very _appealing squeal from the blonde standing above him. She shoved him away from her once more – though playfully – reaching behind herself to undo her bra.

Nearly as soon as the garment fell away from her, Harry pulled her into himself again, repeating their earlier positioning except _thoroughly _taking advantage of the absence of any barrier between them. He lavished kisses across her chest, at times taking a nipple into his mouth, at others lightly biting Daphne’s sensitive flesh.

“Lost your patience already?” She asked, and he made a noise of agreement around one of her breasts. The short-lived striptease had been fun and all, but she _had _told him that she wanted him to take more charge this night, and right now he was much more interested in “touch” than he was in “sight”.

She giggled as he gripped her by the back of her thighs, standing so that he could turn them around and deposit her on his bed. Harry brought his face to hers, and Daphne kissed him gently, letting a soft moan of her own escape her lips as he pressed between her legs.

Without words, the pair both began divesting themselves of what remained of their clothing, Harry struggling only slightly to remove his trousers as he balanced on one leg. He managed to parlay the brief stumble into something that he was hoping looked almost intentional, dropping to his knees at the foot of the bed, gently pushing Daphne’s legs open.

“Y’know, it’s supposed to be about you tonight,” She began to protest (though lightly).

“I know,” Harry answered, “and right now I want to eat your pussy.”

Daphne made a pleased little sound that was lost in a moan as he leaned forward to run his tongue slowly up the length of her slit, groaning on his own as he realized how wet she already was. Harry had never really understood the protests that some of his mates had made when they talked about women who wanted to _receive _oral sex – in his own opinion, it was one of his very favourite acts to perform.

Harry was more than happy to take “perform” literally, at that – he made a show out of locking his eyes to Daphne’s as she propped herself up on her elbows, her breasts heaving as she muttered words of encouragement and ran her fingers through his hair. When Harry pushed two fingers inside of her, he could tell she was already close, and closing his lips around her clit, sucking gently, was enough to finish her.

“Fuck!” Daphne cried, sitting upright as she panted for breath.

“That’s the idea,” Harry drawled, smirking as he crawled up towards her, where she took his face in her hands and brought him unhesitatingly towards her lips to kiss him. Daphne made a quiet, pleased sound as she reached between their bodies to grasp his manhood, stroking it idly, and Harry broke their kiss to whisper into her ear.

“Turn around,” He ordered, as he reached past her to grab a pillow.

Daphne obeyed, planting herself on hands and knees, yelping as Harry pushed her forwards so that she lay belly-down on his bed, her hips lifted into the air by the support of the pillow he’d surreptitiously placed underneath her.

He pushed into her without any warning or hesitation, leaning forward so that his chest pressed against her back, allowing her to hear the muttered stream of profanities spilling from his lips. She was apparently _also _a fan of this position, judging by the way that she turned to nip at his jawline and whisper “don’t stop”.

Harry began to pick up his pace, the sound of his hips smashing against her arse beginning to echo through his bedroom, as he ensured that he plunged as deeply inside of her as he could. He gripped her hip firmly with one hand, digging his thumb firmly into her arse cheek. Leaning back to appreciate the sight, he withdrew his hand briefly, bringing it back down with a _slap_.

“Mmmm,” Daphne voiced her approval, “want to spank me, do you?”

“Can’t blame me,” Harry muttered, bringing his other hand down in the same way, kneading and squeezing her arse as he began to rock his hips again, “you do have a _spectacular _arse.”

She made a noise that was half-giggle and half-moan, rocking her hips from side to side, wiggling said spectacular arse at Harry. He shifted his grip, so that his fingertips dug into the space between her legs and her hipbones, pulling her towards himself with each thrust that he pushed forwards.

“Fffuck,” Daphne moaned, and Harry felt her sex spasm around him, as she reached a second climax – normally, he would give her time to recover from this, but tonight, he felt that she was enjoying the slightly rougher treatment, so if anything he increased the speed of his thrusts. This approach was a double-edged sword, drawing a whole new string of moans from Daphne, but also bringing him rapidly to his own finish.

“Turn around,” Harry grunted, as he pulled out of her _wetly_, and Daphne hurried to do just that – just in time, as he groaned, stroking himself to completion, his cum spraying to land on her breasts, one rope landing on her face nose to chin. She giggled, dramatically extending her tongue to lick her lips clean, and he chuckled in return.

“That was hot,” Daphne reviewed.

“Mmh,” Harry replied, a noise of contentment sufficient to convey his feelings, as he slumped into the bed and ran his fingers down Daphne’s spine.

* * *

_The Daily Prophet has learned that William “Bill” Weasley and Fleur Isabelle Delacour (once Weasley) have filed for divorce, a scenario only made possible by the fact that both are registered as semi-human Magical Beings. From the information that the Prophet has been able to uncover, the paperwork was filed under cause of “Mutually Incompatible Magical Natures”, which of course, dear readers, is a clause which can not apply to those of fully human stock._

_“Seems a bit unfair, doesn’t it?” asks a person of notable social stature who agreed to speak with the Prophet of this situation, “Those of us who are pure of blood are trapped in our marriages no matter what goes wrong – unless our dear [spouses] get themselves sent to Azkaban, of course – whereas Muggleborns and fraction-breeds can apparently exercise greater freedom in this area.”_

_“It’s just as we expected,” says another source, “and really, it’s for the best. If these so-called ‘magical beings’ can’t control themselves and obey the bonds of matrimony, then it’s better for society at large if they aren’t allowed to continue their sham marriages. I, for one, wonder if we should allow them to marry at all.”_

_The Prophet cannot confirm or deny any allegations that the cause of this divorce is rooted in the speculated dalliances carried out by William Weasley, nor can it comment on the oft-repeated accusations that Mrs. Delacour-Weasley utilized the so-called “gifts” of her magical nature to pursue this failed marriage in the first place._

_Attempts to obtain comments from either Mr. Weasley or Mrs. Delacour-Weasley have been met with rebuttals of a crude and disrespectful nature which, dear readers, will not be re-printed in this publication._

_Regardless of the cause of this event, it is clear that this marks a momentous occasion, as despite their personal flaws and failures, both of the parties in this former marriage are among the most notable figures in Wizarding society._

_With this in mind, The Prophet has entered William Weasley at #3 on our list of Most Eligible Bachelors (behind Blaise Zabini and Harry Potter-Black), and Fleur Delacour at #5 on our list of Most Eligible Bachelorettes, displacing Daphne Greengrass._

* * *

Harry

_Wednesday Morning_

Well, that explains _that_, Harry mused. He’d definitely picked up that _something _was going on in the wider Weasley clan, but… yeesh. What was Bill _thinking? _Not only was Fleur an intelligent, driven, and formidable woman, but she was also, well, a fucking _part-Veela. _Not that Harry would sit around fantasizing about one of his friends (who was married to his best mate’s older brother, at that), but if he _were _to do so, then Fleur surely would have made the top of the list.

Fuck. He’d have to owl Ron, who was undoubtedly apoplectic over yet another _Prophet _article attacking someone who he cared about. He wasn’t really close enough to Bill to worry about contacting him directly, but he supposed that when he saw him next, he’d nod solemnly, mutter “rough go, mate”, and cheers their drinks together.

Unless, of course, he’d actually cheated on Fleur – not that Harry put stock into the Prophet as anything but an insight into the more persnickety elements of Wizarding society, but they had certainly alluded to it more directly than most of the not-quite-libel that they printed. If it came down to it, Harry knew that he’d take Fleur’s side in that particular sort of dispute. Fuck.

He lit a cigarette, setting a pot of water to boil, and muttering under his breath in frustration.

“You’re looking cheerful this morning,” Daphne teased as she made her way into the kitchen, “what’s up?”

Harry gestured vaguely at the copy of the _Prophet _in response, mumbling and muttering sounds of discontent.

“I mean, I don’t have to say that the Prophet is utter trash,” Daphne grimaced at the paper, “but… yeah, makes sense.”

Harry leaned back against the windowsill, quirking an eyebrow at her in lieu of a proper response.

“Well, Ronald had been upset about something or other that Bill had done, and, well,” She put the paper down without much care, “this would certainly make sense of that, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Harry agreed. He’d almost forgotten at times that Daphne was so close with Ron, a perfectly logical outcome of Ron marrying Astoria, but… _fuck_. Was this still a casual, undefined thing when he was waking up with his best mate’s sister-in-law with some regularity? When Ron himself had oh-so-subtly mentioned a few times that he thought Harry and Daphne would work well together?

_We kind of do, _he thought.

_Fuck_.

"So," He changed the topic, "looks like you've been bumped out of the top five, hey?"

Daphne snorted a laugh, which was somehow _attractive _coming from her.

"You're just showing off because you have number one locked down for the foreseeable future," She teased back.

_Until I stop being a "bachelor", I guess, yeah. _

* * *

Pansy

_Thursday Afternoon_

Pansy stomped around _Serpentine_, in something of a _mood_. She was frustrated for reasons that even _she _knew were contradictory: first, her shop wasn’t doing as well as she’d expected. Secondly, her shop was doing much better than anticipated.

This paradoxical state of affairs related to her _foolish _decision to take on private commissions as well as selling prefabricated pieces in-shop. The latter category was lagging behind where she’d hoped, while the former was surging well ahead of what she had dreamed of, leaving her in a strange position where her actual shop seemed to serve more as an advertisement for her tailoring services than as an actual retail location itself.

_Infuriating_. Sure, it kept her busy (even busier than she’d _like_), and it paid _very _well, but this was kind of the opposite of what she’d pictured. Sure, sewing a custom dress for Narcissa Black was something she was happy to do, and coming up with a set of stretchable and flexible training uniforms for Ginny Malfoy and her team (after the fitness trousers had proved a hit) had funneled a _staggering _amount of money into her accounts (the Harpies paid _well_), but her first and arguably biggest commission was hanging half-finished in the back room.

It wasn’t even that she didn’t _want _to finish the coat or didn’t have ideas on how to do so, it’s that she couldn’t get her hands on any _fucking dragonskin_ to do so. Despite Auror Tonks’ reassurances, she still hadn’t managed to obtain import rights for dragonskin and other partially-restricted materials, and dealing with the Ministry seemed to grow more and more infuriating each time she stopped by to check on the status of her latest application.

She sighed, flipping the sign on the front door of her shop to "Be Back in 5 minutes" (not that she had any fucking customers right now), and stomped out front to have a _fucking_ cigarette.

Exhaling, Pansy thought about how she'd have to have Harry and Daphne help burn off this frustration of hers come the weekend - she might even enlist Daphne's services individually again as soon as tomorrow, at this rate.

Grinding the butt of her cigarette into the pavement with the tip of her heel, she wheeled to return to her shop when a voice interrupted her.

"Miss Parkinson?" The voice - a man's - inquired.

"Yes?" She replied snappily, turning to face the stranger. He was a plain-looking sort, uninteresting features wrapped in an uninspired beige-ish suit that fit between "poorly" and "acceptably", only notable for the Ministry badge pinned to his lapel.

"I'm afraid you'll have to close shop for a bit longer than five minutes," The man continued, his voice absent of any inflection, "we need you to come in to the Ministry immediately."

* * *

Daphne

_Thursday Evening_

[Your Group Conversation with **Harry** and **Pansy**]

**Pansy:** Fucking SERIOUSLY, Potter?

[**Pansy** has left your Group Conversation]

[**Your Group Conversation has closed**]

_Wait, what? _Daphne thought. _What the fuck happened?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THAT fun awaits...
> 
> This marks roughly the half-way point (ish) of the story in general, more to come!
> 
> As always, comments, critiques, and reviews welcome!


	13. Dramaturgy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pansy has an illuminating experience at the Ministry of Magic, has words with Harry, and gets drunk
> 
> **NOTE**: I may have screwed up the AO3 chapter numbering system a bit - if you haven't read a multi-POV chapter directly before this one, I recommend going back to read the one titled "Melodrama" first!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter didn't seem to land as well as some of the others had, so here's more of a return to conventional formatting!
> 
> CW: This chapter contains a background character who gets pushy and tries to pressure Pansy into sex - this attempt is NOT successful but if you find this type of content unsettling, skip the "Thursday Night, Late" section of this chapter

Pansy

_Thursday, Late Afternoon_

Somewhere in the basement of the Ministry of Magic, Pansy sat at a table, drumming her lacquered nails against its surface. They’d been “kind” enough to get her a styrofoam cup of what passed for “coffee” at the Aurors’ offices, but not even her customary practice of dumping as much sugar into the black sludge as it could absorb could manage to salvage this _swill_.

The nondescript, beige-suited man (Auror Savage, as he’d finally introduced himself) had left her in this room at least ten minutes ago, not that there was a clock on the wall for her to allow her to judge for herself.

This was far from her first interrogation, but it was already one of the most _annoying _ones she’d experienced. Sure, she’d _understood _why she had immediately been hauled into various forms of custody following the end of the Second Wizarding War, but she also understood that she’d been through that whole process and come out of the other side – bringing her back in now felt vindictive more than anything else.

Finally, after an _excruciating _wait, the door to the cloistering room swung open, and Auror Savage made his return, carrying a thick manila folder in his hands. He sat across the table from Pansy and opened the folder, beginning to peruse through the documents contained within. After he continued to read through these files with no apparent intention of actually interacting with Pansy, she couldn’t help but clear her throat in an obviously attention-catching way.

“Hmm,” the plain-looking man uttered, closing the folder and looking across the table at her impassively, “are you aware of why we’ve brought you here today, Miss Parkinson?”

“Look, I’m trying, but you all aren’t exactly making it easy on me,” Pansy snapped, rolling her eyes in annoyance, “I’ll have Auror Tonks’ commission finished as soon as I can actually get my hands on some fucking dragonhide, yeah?”

“Ah,” Auror Savage responded, before falling silent once more. Pansy fidgeted, clicking her nails against the tabletop, taking another swig of coffee, _anything _to distract herself from the absolutely _vacant _presence of the man across the table. “No,” the living embodiment of _beige _finally continued, “I’m afraid that the clothing commissioned by Auror Tonks is unrelated to your presence here today.” 

Auror Savage opened his folder once again, methodically leafing through the documents within until he made his selection, sliding it across the table to Pansy after yet another infuriating and unnecessary delay. She snatched the paper up, quickly skimming it: a history of rental payments made for the building where she was operating _Serpentine_, transfers that she was well aware of.

“So, you’ve hauled me into a Ministry interrogation room to talk about my _rent_?” She asked, incredulously.

“Just so, Miss Parkinson,” Auror Savage answered, “we just want to be absolutely certain that the funds you used to launch your business were obtained legally.”

Pansy felt heat rising at the back of her neck as her outrage and indignation quickly flared: _Fuck this, _she thought, _we already went through this whole fucking show. _

“I’ve already went through this with you lot,” she reiterated out loud, “I worked at Madam Primpernelle’s for two years, I saved every damn knut that I made, and it all went into _Serpentine_. I’ve already provided the paystubs for that.”

“Hmm,” Auror Savage replied, unmoved, “Yes, this is supported by your documentation. However, as your current business is your only known means of income, we wanted to ascertain that your profits are in accordance with your actual sales.”

“I can get you the fucking inventories,” Pansy snapped, exasperated, “the rest of my sales are in commissions. Including to one of your fellow Aurors, if it wasn’t fucking clear enough that this is above-board.”

“Who else have you taken commissions from?” The anthropomorphic manifestation of _bureaucracy _across from her asked, producing a notebook and pen from inside his beige jacket.

“The Holyhead Harpies, Narcissa Black, Lisel Yaxley-Smith…” Pansy began, “Auror Nymphadora fucking _Tonks_, and Flora Carrow.”

“Hmm,” The infuriating Auror made the exact same fucking response, “an incorporated sports team, three witches who have previously been investigated or charged with associating with Dark Magic, and a former parole officer of yours.”

_Fuck_, Pansy realized, _that could actually look bad. _

“I trust that your inventories account for the cost of materiel and labour, yes?” Auror Savage asked, and Pansy just now realized the effectiveness of his interrogation technique.

“There’s a markup on fashionable clothing,” She grumbled, “expensive pieces sell better.”

She was spared from having to explain how she wasn’t _actually _laundering money, merely charging a premium for the sake of _exclusivity _by the room’s door crashing open with a bang, revealing the aforementioned Auror Tonks.

“Auror Savage,” Tonks spoke tersely, “a moment?” 

Wordlessly, the nondescript man took the invoice of rental payments back from Pansy, returned it to his folder, and stood stiffly from his seat, closing the door behind himself as he departed the room.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck! _Pansy thought, beginning to worry. _This might actually fucking look bad for me, what the fuck is going on? _

The money she had used to open _Serpentine _had been entirely her own, but she _knew _how her parents operated, and their constant, amoral pursuit of galleons was one that… wasn’t unreasonable to assume might have infected her, if she were being objective about it.

_Fuck_.

The next time the door opened, it was Auror Tonks who made her way into the room, rather than the apex of averageness that was Auror Savage.

“Miss Parkinson,” Tonks started, “Pansy, let’s get you out of here.”

“Yeah?” Pansy asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Auror Savage is… methodical, yeah?” Tonks began to explain, “you’re not being charged with anything, and I’m sure we’ll get this sorted right quick, but he’s the sort to hunt down every last sickle and knut until he’s content with his investigation.”

Tonks produced an envelope, handing it to Pansy as she stood.

“Look, I know it doesn’t count for much, but for what it’s worth, I know that this doesn’t involve you,” Tonks spoke, slightly cryptically, “but the higher-ups aren’t on board, so we’re going to have to shut you down for a bit.”

_No._

“What do you mean, ‘shut me down’!?” Pansy practically shrieked.

“It’s not my bloody call, but until Savage signs off on your invoices… you can’t have _Serpentine_ open.”

_I’m ruined. _

“But!” Tonks interjected, the Auror actually looking _angry_, surprisingly, “I pulled some strings. Included in that envelope,” she explained, gesturing, “is a license to work with dragonhide. Not to import it, mind, but I managed to get that fuckin’ far at least. Between you and I, you should announce publicly that you’re closing temporarily because of an exclusive commission you’ve received – that should help salvage the worst of this situation.”

“Fuck.” Pansy spoke, her voice catching in her throat, “well, I suppose I should pay thanks? What the fuck is this about, anyways?”

As Tonks guided her outside into the hallway, the Auror sighed.

“Can’t say. Wish I could, but it’s still an open case.”

_Clear as fucking mud, that, _Pansy thought.

* * *

_Thursday Evening_

Back at the flat that her and Blaise shared, Pansy finally brought herself to open the envelope that Tonks had given her. As promised, it contained a laminated “_LICENSE TO POSSESS SEMI-RESTRICTED MAGICAL MATERIALS”, _as well as a Ministry injunction mandating that _Serpentine _close its doors until further notice, a heavily-redacted report attached to said injunction.

She skimmed this report for the sake of her curiosity more than anything:

_________

_According to rental invoices and _ _█████████, _ _███████████████ is known to be owner or part owner of twenty-six different properties in Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley within London, England. As owner or part owner, _ _███████████████████████████████ ███████████████ heretofore unaccounted for_ _ █████████████████████████ _ _████████████████████████████████████████. _

_It _ _███████████████████ that the income _ _████████████████████████_ _███████████████████████████████████████████████████_ _████████████████. As many rental agreements are operated by means of “handshake agreements” or “under the table” payments,_ _ ██████████████████████████ _ _█████████████████████████████████████████████████████████_ _█████████████. _

_Further to these potential allegations, _ _████████████████████████████████_ _████████ alike be initiated, with particular focus _ _██████████████████████████████████████ surveillance or investigation of known associates_ _ █████████████_ _████. While it cannot be stated conclusively, _ _█████████████████████████████_ _██████ Miss Pansy Parkinson, _ _██████████████████████████████ “Serpentine” _ _███████████████████ under suspicion. _

___________

Pansy scowled, not being able to make heads nor tails of whatever the fuck this report was getting at, was nonetheless struck by an unpleasant realization: she _recognized_ the spidery, looping hand that this report was written in.

_What the fuck, Harry?_

Furiously, she reached for her enchanted notebook, scrawling her anger directly onto the page.

_“Fucking SERIOUSLY, Potter?”, _she wrote. Snarling, she tore the page out of the notebook, removing herself from the little group chat that Daphne, Potter, and herself had been sharing until now.

Almost immediately, the notebook vibrated, a message from fucking Potter appearing: _“What? What’s wrong?”_

Pansy threw the notebook across the room with a shriek of frustration, stomping over to the fireplace. Hurling a fistful of floo powder into the fire, she spoke the words for Potter’s residence with a snarl, hurling herself through the magical connection and into his living room.

“What the absolute _FUCK_, Potter!?” She cried, on arrival, as the man himself entered his own living room with a look of stupid confusion on his face.

“What the fuck is right, Pans!” He cried, pathetically plaintive, “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“I just spent the whole fucking afternoon,” Pansy growled, “at the Ministry of _fucking _Magic, trying to explain where my fucking _money _comes from, and they fucking closed my fucking shop.” She stomped towards him, driving her finger into his chest, “No thanks,” she turned away, “to _you_.”

“Oh.” Potter deflated, “Look, I would have given you a heads up if I could have, but I didn’t think you’d wind up looped into this…”

“Fuck what you think.” She snarled, “I should have fucking known that you still weren’t over fucking Hogwarts. I’m better than this, and if you can’t fucking see that then you’re a bigger idiot than I thought.”

“I…” Potter started.

“Go fuck yourself, Potter,” She concluded, producing another handful of floo powder from her pocket, stepping into the fire, and disappearing from his home and his life.

* * *

_Thursday Night, Late_

By the time she’d finished her second bottle of wine, Pansy’s rage had entirely failed to cool down.

_Fuck him, fuck the Aurors, fuck everyone, _she thought, _if I can never be seen as anything other than the fucking “Slag of Slytherin”, then what does it fucking matter how hard I’ve been trying?_

Her parents had spent her entire damn childhood pushing her towards Draco Malfoy, towards “good pureblood families”, filling her head with absolute fucking bullshite and garbage about “blood status” and “purity”, and then when it came to a head and she publicly took the wrong side during the Second Wizarding War, they’d abandoned her.

_Fuck them too._

She didn’t even care that her parents had cut ties with her, they were both thoroughly _monstrous _fucking people, but to still be damned by her association with them? To, even now, be thought of as a potentially-dark witch who can’t be trusted? Why was it even worth all the effort that she put in to stay legitimate, to obtain her funds through _work _rather than from the numerous old Pureblood men who had sent barely-disguised missives to her after the war; _oh what a tragedy_ _it is for a beautiful young Pureblood woman like yourself to be left alone, surely I can help_, as if she could be bought so easily.

But coming from Potter, of all people? It hurt.

Shrieking, she hurled the empty wine bottle across the bedroom, where it shattered against the wall. Blaise was out somewhere or another, leaving her to stew alone in her emotions.

_Fuck this_, she thought, stripping and beginning to don a dress that was _very _tight and _extremely _short. _I’m better than this._

She wound up at “The Asp”, something that passed as a nightclub in Pureblood society, deep in the guts of Knockturn Alley. By the time she arrived she was already swaying on her feet, but the way her tits looked in this dress got her past the bouncer with no struggle, and the throbbing music inside helped match the throbbing blood inside her head.

By the time she lost track of time, she was dancing with… some man, not that she remembered his name. She vaguely recalled that he’d been a Slytherin in her year, and he seemed _pleased _to see her, but more importantly he had an _excellent _selection of alcohol and cocaine alike at his table. Maybe she should have been surprised that Pureblood What’s-his-name would dabble in Muggle drugs, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care at this point.

When he pulled her tight against him, trying to press a kiss to her lips, she considered it, but turned her head away. Something didn’t feel right, and anyways, with the way her vision was spinning, she was in _no _condition to go home with Mr. Rich Pureblood.

“Mmmit’s beenfun,” she slurred, her words running together, “but I’mmmm leavingnow.”

“So soon?” The man sneered, not a particularly attractive expression on his pinched face, “but the fun’s just getting started, love!”

She was dimly aware that he was pulling her back towards his table, and struggled to push him away from her, but he had a solid grip on her arm and she wasn’t in the most coordinated state.

“No, I wanna go hoooome,” she protested.

The man pulled her into himself, pressing his groin against her belly.

“I know what I paid for, Parkinson,” his voice came out in a hiss, “you’re not leaving yet.”

Fear began to take her, at the same time as a dark thought of “_guess I deserve this” _echoed in the back of her mind.

“Ah, Pansy, there you are! Let’s get going.” A smooth, deep voice cut through the din of the music in the background.

_Blaise. Thank Merlin._

“This doesn’t concern you, Zabini,” the man clutching her snarled, though his grip on her loosened, “why don’t you go bother some little fairy somewhere else?”

“Ah, Pritchard, I hadn’t noticed you there,” Blaise replied, unruffled, “you ready to leave, Pansy?”

The man – Pritchard – let her go, stepping in front of her to puff himself up at Blaise.

“Fuck off, Zabini. Last chance.”

Pansy noticed that Pritchard’s friends had begun climbing from their seats at his table, scowls on their faces visible despite her blurring vision.

“Pritchard,” Blaise answered smoothly, “not one of you or your boys can handle me. Before you do something stupid, I truly, sincerely recommend that _you _fuck off.”

Pritchard lunged forward, a clumsy punch swiping across Blaise’s face. Blaise rocked, but stayed standing, his _own _punch smacking into Pritchard’s face with a solid _crunch_, knocking the man backwards and onto his arse.

“Like I said,” Blaise tucked an arm around Pansy, as she heard the bouncers yelling in the background, “fuck off.”

Nobody else accosted them as Blaise led her away from the bar, and apparated them back to their flat.

* * *

_Friday Morning_

Pansy’s head was killing her, and one of her knees was skinned from where she must have fallen at some point in the night before, but she found that her memories were _distressingly _clear.

“Sorry about that.” She muttered, when she walked into the kitchen and found Blaise already awake, seated at the table.

“Oh, trust me, I would _never _pass up the opportunity to punch Graham fucking Pritchard in the face,” Blaise drawled, smirking, “but, well, I hate to ask, but are you alright?”

Pansy shrugged, noncommittally waving a hand through the air.

“The fucking Aurors shut me down, Blaise,” she explained, “I can’t reopen Serpentine until they clear me in some fucking investigation, and it’s probably something to do with my goddamn father.”

“Mm,” Blaise sipped his tea, “yeah, right, I get that. Still, I don’t want to be _unseemly _or anything, but I might be… somewhat concerned.”

“I overreacted,” she admitted. _I overreacted to Potter, too, didn't I… _

“I’d say. It’s a good thing you stick to the same haunts when you’re feeling particularly rambunctious.”

“How’d you know, anyways?” Pansy started brewing a coffee, even though her stomach still roiled from the night before.

“Funny enough, that. Daphne firecalled me, quite panicked. Strange how she knew you were upset, isn’t it?” His smirk and raised eyebrow suggested that he’d already formed his own opinion on what _that _meant.

_I don’t need to be fucking taken care of, _Pansy thought, _but… that _is_ nice. She’s nice. _

_Fuck, I’ve fucked this up, haven’t I?_

* * *

_Report from Investigator Harry Potter to the desk of Head Auror Robards_

_According to rental invoices and property deeds, Lord Penrose Parkinson II is known to be owner or part owner of twenty-six different properties in Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley within London, England. As owner or part owner, this represents an estimated monthly income of approximately seventeen thousand galleons, which is heretofore unaccounted for in the Parkinson Estate’s attributed wealth, whether by self-report, Ministry documentation, or journalistic speculation. _

_It is the opinion of this investigator that the income from Lord Parkinson’s property ownership is being funneled to one Mr. Wesley Rosier, cousin to deceased Death Eater Evan Rosier, and suspected smuggler and seller of Dark Magic artefacts. As many rental agreements are operated by means of “handshake agreements” or “under the table” payments, Lord Parkinson’s distributed ownership of property represents an opportunity to engage in money laundering, disguising both the source of this income and its destination. _

_Further to these potential allegations, this investigator recommends that surveillance of Mr. Rosier and Lord Parkinson alike be initiated, with particular focus on the properties owned in full or in part by Lord Parkinson, as well as surveillance or investigation of known associates of both Mr. Rosier and Lord Parkinson. While it cannot be stated conclusively, the public condemnation of the Heir of house Parkinson, Miss Pansy Parkinson, leaves reason to believe that the recently-opened apparel store “Serpentine” is not among the list of properties under suspicion. _

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pansy? Dramatically overreacting? Never!
> 
> The trio have now hit their first major roadblock - I wonder how they're going to patch things up from here?
> 
> Please let me know what is and isn't working in this story! I'm exploring a few new avenues in writing as I'm doing this, so there's definitely going to be hits and misses alike!
> 
> As a housekeeping note, I've also deleted the fancast image for now - I'm definitely not an artist, and I wasn't getting it to work the way I was picturing, so there's a lesson learned!


	14. Confidante (Daphne/Harry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron and Astoria have their dinner party, where both Harry and Daphne attend - both of them come to realizations, including what they have to do next

Harry

Harry ground his cigarette into the curb, grimacing. It wasn’t that he was _upset _or anything like that, but he’d found himself feeling distinctly un-social in the last couple of weeks, and Ron and Astoria’s announcement party was something he’d have skipped if it was any less of a momentous occasion.

Ron had let him in on the reason for the announcement – Astoria’s pregnancy – just a week ago, and Harry was (honestly) thrilled for the couple, but the extent to which he was happy for _them _didn’t seem to do much to make him happier for _himself_.

It wasn’t even as if his present circumstances were _unforeseen _or anything like that, Pansy had been pretty up-front about the usual nature of her relationships (short, fast, and _temporary_), but the way in which things had gone from “good” to “over” had blindsided Harry and left him reeling to an extent.

_Not sure what she expected, _he grumbled internally, as he made his way up the steps to Ron and Astoria’s house, _it’s not like I could have told her that her dad was under investigation. _It _had _surprised him that the Aurors had seen fit to shut down her shop as well (despite his own recommendations), but he wasn’t exactly in a place to give orders to the Aurors, yeah?

He rapped on the door, the present he had brought for the two of them slung under one arm, fussing with his hair to make sure that he was at least appropriately presentable for an occasion like this. Harry _had _bothered to dress himself respectably and even shaved before heading out, but while he’d fallen back into some old anti-social habits, he’d also been neglecting his grooming in general.

“Mate!” Ron practically bellowed, as soon as he opened the door, “thank Merlin you’re here! You’d best hurry inside, before Hermione kills ‘Stori’s dad!”

_Oh, bollocks. _Harry didn’t exactly enjoy the company of Cyrus Greengrass, but he also supposed that what little he knew of the man was also tinged by the bias that Daphne had left him with – _that’s gonna be another _thing _to deal with_, he realized, as he hadn’t exactly been the most outgoing when it came to Daphne recently.

“What’s the battle?” Harry smirked, shrugging off his coat and handing Ron the wrapped gift – _a pair of charmed “sleeping caps” which were recommended for new parents _– before making his way into their house. He knew that the property itself was one of the Greengrass plots, but the couple had been making it their own for years now, and the way that it _bustled _inside from the gathered crowd left a distinctly “Weasley” impression.

It didn’t take Harry long for him to spot Hermione – _fuming_ ­– sat at one of the several tables which had been semi-haphazardly pushed together.

“Hey sunshine,” He teased as he sat next to her, “how’re you?’

“Harry,” Hermione practically _growled_, “good of you to make an appearance. I just spent ten minutes dealing with _insinuations _and _implications _from fucking Greengrass.”

_If Hermione’s cursing, old Cyrus must have _really _been out of line. _

“What did he say?”

“He didn’t _say _anything,” Hermione grumbled, “just, you know, standard Pureblood refrains, oh-so-subtly implying that I’m a _concubine _of yours or something ridiculous like that, expressing his surprise that a _Muggleborn _would understand politics, let alone a _woman_, you know.”

“Want me to kill him?” Harry asked, an eyebrow quirked.

Thankfully, Hermione snorted at his joke – though it wouldn’t exactly be the _first _time he’d taken a life, Harry didn’t really want to open the door to killing his enemies which were merely _political _ones.

“No, thank you for offering, though,” She acquiesced, taking a drink from her wineglass, “I think that his daughter might beat you to the punch, anyways,” Hermione gestured with her head, making Harry notice that Cyrus Greengrass was currently seated beside Daphne, his arms folded across his chest.

_Fuck. It’s not like she’d want me to go _save _her or anything like that, but… no, I’m not letting this go._

“I think I’ll have words with him anyways,” Harry muttered, patting Hermione on the shoulder, “seems like he needs reminding of the fact that we live in a new world.”

“Just don’t light anything on fire,” Hermione teased.

Harry tried not to _stomp_ on his way over, but neither did he overly restrain his mood from appearing on his face: if Cyrus Greengrass wanted to try and hurt the feelings of his best friend _and _a woman that Harry found himself growing rather fond of in the same afternoon, Harry didn’t exactly have many compunctions about _demonstrating _his displeasure.

He sat heavily at the table, a couple seats down from Daphne, and idly reached to pour himself a glass of port.

“Ah. Lord Potter-Black,” the surly Greengrass sneered, “how kind of you to join us in person rather than sending a _representative_.”

“Mm,” Harry replied, swirling the glass in front of himself, inspecting the way that the liquor coated the sides of the vessel, before taking a deep swig. He allowed the moment to stretch – for all that Draco could still be an absolute _git _at times, Harry was thankful that he’d learned how to convey “pissed off” in pureblood language thanks to the blond.

“I _have _just spoken with Miss Granger, as it turns out,” Harry started, not making eye contact with Cyrus, “Miss Greengrass, it appears I owe you my thanks for putting an end to _that _conversation.” He turned to her, raising his glass as if in cheer.

Daphne, for her part, didn’t reply, but Harry saw the faintest hint of a blush creeping up her ears. Their… _relationship? “Arrangement”? _was decidedly _not _public knowledge, so he had to measure his own actions somewhat carefully, but it was well within the bounds of propriety for a Lord of his age and marital status to engage in a little flirting.

Not that he was here to flirt with Daphne – _that would be a _lot _nicer_ – but to excoriate her father.

“Well, Lord Potter-Black, you must admit it is unprecedented,” the elder Greengrass muttered, “many Lords have sent their retainers to court on their behalf, but to send your… _companion_ in your place, after avoiding the Wizengamot for months? It sends a _message_, does it not?”

“Lord Greengrass,” Harry answered, “Miss Granger is one of my very closest allies, a fully capable and competent Witch in her own right, and a sworn vassal of both Houses Black and Potter alike. If you wish to continue making arguments of this manner, I’ll be _well _within my rights to consider your speculation an insult to _both _of those houses.”

He saw Cyrus clench up, his arms wrapping tighter about his chest, but apparently the stubborn man was undeterred.

“You should know well that houses such as mine are ones you’ll need as allies, Lord Potter-Black, especially if your… _representative’s _pursuits of greater rights for Muggleborns and Half-Breeds is one that originates from _your _desk. Consider _that_, before you shut doors that you cannot reopen.”

“Ah, Cyrus,” Harry continued, “your daughter is a friend of mine, wedded to one of my closest allies, I have _no _concerns whatsoever that Houses Greengrass and Potter-Black will find themselves aligned while she is the Head of House.” He leaned forward over the table, refilling his glass, but also looming somewhat closer to Lord Greengrass. “Let’s all hope that day is a long time in the future, yeah?”

The threat did not go unnoticed by _either _Greengrass seated at the table: Cyrus blanched, while a smirk broke across Daphne’s features.

“Well said, Lord Potter-Black,” the former grumbled, “though I must say, if you wish to make a display of putting your women in public, why not take my _other _progeny as a concubine or such? Sure, she hasn’t amounted to much, but she’s at least of good stock and has adequate birthing hips.”

_He didn’t_.

Daphne rose from the table with a burst, looking as if she were about to tear into her father, before grumbling loudly and turning to stomp away.

“Lord Greengrass,” Harry continued, trying not to let his own anger show too transparently, “I must reiterate myself, as it appears you failed to understand me earlier: I do not engage in your ancient customs of _‘concubines’ _or ‘_consorts’ _as a barely-disguised excuse for slavery, and my relationship with Miss Granger is nothing other than that of Lord and Vassal, as far as your traditions would see it.” Harry rose from the table, draining the rest of his glass while maintaining eye contact with the seated man. “I trust that you can understand that a single further implication coming from your lips will raise my ire,” the glass _popped _with an explosion of glass – _fuck, didn’t actually mean to do that _– “ask House Dolohov how that ends.”

* * *

Daphne

_The… the fucking _gall _of the man, I’d say I can’t believe he’d say that about me except that I absolutely _fucking _can believe it. _

Daphne had stormed off into one of the numerous side hallways of this particular residence, one which she’d been well-acquainted with as a child. Her father’s words hadn’t _hurt_, really, she already knew that the man was a loathsome and antiquated sexist, but for some reason they stung worse having been in front of Harry.

The contrast between the two Lords couldn’t have been any more dramatic: though she wasn’t even sure if Harry had fully understood the significance of that horrible little conversation, he had basically stopped _just _short of declaring his intent to _kill _her father for his vile words, and that had an effect on her which wasn’t _entirely _unexpected, she supposed.

If she had been the “Ice Queen” as a teenager, she was all but _fracturing _now as a variety of different emotions worked their way through her mind: _rage_ at her father, outright _lust_ for Harry, but tinged with a substantial degree of _frustration _that he and Pansy had apparently fucked up some part of their three-person arrangement, _wistfulness _at the idea of having that relationship become something more, and an _angry sadness _at the fact that she had no idea how to process these competing feelings.

Over the past couple of weeks, neither Harry nor Pansy had been very talkative to her, though neither had exactly _cut _contact following the falling-out between the two of them, which only seemed to frustrate Daphne even further. She hadn’t managed to pry the full story out of either of them, though Pansy had explained that the Aurors had shut the doors of her shop, and Harry had briefly insisted that it wasn’t his fault, and that was all she knew.

“Hey,” the voice of the man himself broke through her introspection, “you alright?”

In lieu of a response Daphne simply turned to him, grabbing Harry by the lapels of his jacket, and crushing him against herself.

“You… I don’t know whether to kiss you or slap you,” she admitted, feeling a chuckle rumble through his chest in response, “you were _magnificent, _but that’s the first I’ve seen of you in weeks? What do you think?”

“Well,” Harry drawled, “I’d prefer not to be slapped, yeah?”

_Fair enough for me, _she decided, lifting her face to his and pressing a gentle kiss against his lips.

“Harry, where-oh!” A female voice interrupted.

“Hermione,” Harry grumbled, “a bit of privacy, yeah?”

“I-of course! Uh, sorry!” Hermione stuttered, disappearing back into the rest of the party.

“Hmm,” Daphne muttered, “our secret’s out, then?”

“Nah,” Harry smirked, “Hermione’s not one for gossip, but I _do _expect an uncomfortable conversation at some point in my future, I guess I’ll have to explain _friends with benefits _to her.”

_Right, “friends”. _

“I should get back to the party, though,” Harry admitted, “I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

“Please do,” Daphne smiled, watching him depart.

_I know how to fix this, _she realized.

* * *

Harry

He’d meandered through the party, said much more _pleasant _hellos to various people – friends and nearly-strangers alike – and had now settled himself in to a nice little corner away from the bulk of the gathered guests, watching Draco and Ginny setting up a magical projector to start showing the pictures from their honeymoon.

The newlyweds had vacationed through parts of Europe – nowhere _too _far-flung, as the Malfoy coffers definitely weren’t what they once were, though Harry’s own wedding present of a couple thousand galleons probably helped there – and in each and every picture the couple’s sheer _adoration _for each other was evident.

Harry smirked, thinking of how odd it was that the relationships which had seemed so preordained during Hogwarts – himself and Ginny, Ron and Hermione, Seamus and anyone that moved, Draco and his own hair – had seemed to lead to _better _outcomes for most of the people involved once the original assumptions had fallen apart.

When he’d dated Gin, Harry had found himself unable to keep up with her highly social, outgoing nature, finding it more of a source of frustration than something which encouraged him to get out of the house. Draco, for his own slightly-withdrawn tendencies, embraced and thrived in this type of relationship, on the other hand.

Hermione and Ron… well, Harry was at a loss these days as to how he’d _ever _thought the two of them would work together. Ron was great and all, still Harry’s best mate by a wide margin, but he needed to be _guided _by his partner, a task which had grown to frustrate Hermione instead of giving her an opportunity to be bossy. Astoria, on the other hand, took to that substantial process like a fish to water, more than happy to be the “boss” of their relationship, just as Ron was a source of stable, steadfast support for the former Slytherin.

Not that he was privy to her secrets or whether it even counted as a “relationship” yet, but Harry had definitely picked up on _something _happening between Hermione and Viktor Krum, and he was all for it: despite the fact that the giant of a man seemed cold and foreboding, he knew Viktor was one of _the _most loyal people he’d ever met (_Viktor Krum: Hufflepuff, _Harry thought with a smirk), and he had a _ravenous _hunger to learn as much as Hermione was willing to teach him, the man’s intellect nearly as sharp and fierce as Hermione’s own.

Which, of course, left Harry himself. He’d found himself getting on well with Daphne, and – perhaps in spite of – the little nudges and hints that Ron and Astoria had passed his way, he had genuinely started to think that perhaps she might work with him as something substantially more than “friends with benefits”.

The problem there being, of course, a snarling serpent that was not in attendance at the party. He had no idea what the fuck Pansy had blown her lid over, but he wasn’t going to apologize to her for something that he wasn’t at fault for, and if that was the end of the time he spent with her, so be it. He wasn’t so jealous as to ask Daphne to stop seeing Pansy, but if the two of them ever considered something more… that would have to be dealt with.

Lost in his introspection, Harry saw photos of Draco and Ginny in Paris, a beret _ridiculously _perched off the side of Malfoy’s head, and he cracked a smile at the same time as he thought _Pansy would love it there, _which immediately chased the smile from his face and sent a dark mood spiraling through his mind.

Grumbling to himself internally, he delicately removed himself from the party, meandering outside and sparking a cigarette, fishing in his jacket for the flask of firewhiskey he’d brought with him. The double-sided burn in his throat helped distract him from his own thoughts, unwilling to delve any deeper into how he’d transitioned from trying to resent Pansy directly into thinking of things she’d like.

“Potter,” A silky voice interrupted his contemplation.

“Malfoy,” He replied, offering Draco his flask, who accepted it with a gesture of cheers.

“You alright? You took off all of a sudden, there.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Harry grumbled, “just thinking about some stuff that I’d rather not. Nothing to worry about.”

“Sorry, mate,” Draco apologized for some reason, “I should have realized, it’s probably a sore spot for you?”

Harry mulled this over, trying to figure out what Draco was getting at. _Oh, shite. _

“Draco, no,” Harry rubbed the back of his head, “it’s nothing about you and Ginny, trust me! I’m still happy for the two of you, and I’ll continue to be happy as long as you treat her right, yeah?”

This half-hearted attempt at intimidation didn’t work on Malfoy, sadly.

“Then what is it?” It was infuriating how Draco was actually a _kind _and _caring _person once he got out from his father’s clutches, “surely you don’t have _that _much resentment against the French? I know you’re a proper English bloke and all, but…”

“Hah, no, the French are fine,” Harry shrugged, lighting a second cigarette, “I guess it’s something like ‘girl troubles’, but I dunno if that’s even the right way to put it.”

“Oh?” Draco made for Harry to continue, a gesture which _also _doubled as a request for a cigarette – fucking Slytherin charms – which Harry provided him.

“Not much to talk about, I’m afraid. There was something happening, now it’s not, and I guess I’m still having a hard time getting used to that.”

“Why is it… ‘not’?”

“Well, uh,” Harry fidgeted with his hair again, “I’m not sure, that’s the thing. She blew up on me, won’t talk to me since, and I’m not even sure what I’ve done.”

“Hmm,” Draco took a drag, exhaling smoke, “is this lucky lady at the party tonight?”

“No,” Harry muttered, taking a swig of his whiskey. _That _would have complicated things significantly. “I’ve no idea what she’s doing. Probably getting drunk somewhere.”

“Ah, a lady after your own heart, then,” Draco drawled, “do I know this witch?”

_Unfortunately, you know her well, _Harry thought. “Eh,” he shrugged, instead, “maybe, but who doesn’t know damn near everyone at this point.”

He cursed himself, seeing the wheels turning in Draco’s head. These goddamn Slytherins were too good at _ferreting _these details out of him.

“Well, if it’s a particularly sharp-tongued sort of woman who likes her whiskey,” Draco trailed off, “then I could imagine that a woman like that would be hurt if she felt like you were keeping secrets from her, and I’d imagine that whatever it is you have going on with Daph might be cause for that upset.”

“It’s not that,” Harry answered, panicking as he tried to pivot, “and ‘what I have going on with Daph’? I wasn’t aware there _was _a going on?”

“Bullshite left over from Hogwarts, then?”

“Fuck, maybe,” Harry was at a loss as to how Draco fucking Malfoy was giving him advice on courting his former girlfriend-for-the-purposes-of-public-knowledge.

“Look, mate, I’m no mind reader,” Draco quirked an eyebrow dramatically, the topic of occlumency and legilimency being an old joke between the two men, “but if it’s what I think it is… then this woman might not even be mad at _you_, she might be mad because she _felt _like she should be mad, then got upset once she realized that you’re actually the entirely-too-noble dickhead that people think you’re pretending to be.”

“That’s…” _That makes a lot of sense, _“fucking idiotic. How’s it my fault if someone feels like they should be mad at me but can’t be?”

“Women are _terribly mysterious_,” Draco wiggled his fingers in the air, “almost as if someone who’s used to only having themselves to count on might get angry at themselves when they realize they’ve come to count on you, then push you away to try and reassert that status quo. We’re a terribly well-adjusted bunch, us Hogwarts War survivors.”

_Fuck. _

“Draco!” Ginny’s voice called from the doorway, “there you are!”

“Had to have a chat with Potter,” Draco drawled, surreptitiously throwing his cigarette butt to the ground, “the lad’s got himself all a-twitter over some unfortunate woman.”

“Oh, Harry,” Ginny chuckled, “who’s the lucky girl?”

“He won’t say,” Draco interrupted, shrugging, “terribly mysterious,” he joked for the second time.

“Hey, Gin,” Harry smiled, despite his previous mood, “how’re you?”

“I’m good, Harry!” She replied cheerfully, “but _both _of you brooding conspirators are needed inside, dinner’s about to start.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be right there,” Harry waved the couple off, returning to his cigarette. Watching the pair walk back inside, he shook his head mirthfully when Ginny chucked her fist against Draco’s shoulder, before weaving her arm through his. _They’ve got something nice. _

* * *

Daphne

The dinner was lovely, and the announcement from Astoria and Ronald that their family was set to grow within a few months had been almost heart-wrenchingly well received, she’d caught more than a few of the guests with tears in their eyes (and if pressed, may have admitted that she was among that number).

The reception which continued afterwards was… still _nice_, but she felt an anxious energy beginning to grow inside her as endless guests circled around her table, where she was (naturally, _Astoria) _sat directly beside the man who she was eager to get alone.

Eventually, she decided to take matters into her own hand, among other things.

Slyly reaching beneath the tablecloth, she trailed fingers up Harry’s thigh, and was pleased at how the man stiffened momentarily but didn’t make any move to stop her action. Slowly walking her digits up his leg, she continued her actions despite outwardly glancing about the room.

At one table, Remus Lupin was _pointedly _glaring across the room at William Weasley, who was sticking mostly to himself, a blonde that Daphne recognized (who was **_not _**Fleur Delacour) but couldn’t place at his side. At another, Luna Lovegood was practically _draped _over Susan Bones, a display which probably would have caused questions, raised eyebrows, or even cruel insults if it were not for the facts that Luna’s eccentricity was well known, and that Susan might well duel anyone who saw fit to insult her on grounds of her (what her _father _would undoubtedly refer to as) _sapphism_.

Gripping Harry’s member over his trousers, she felt him beginning to grow hard under her ministrations, a brief thought of _I’ve missed this_ being – ridiculously – directed towards his _cock. _She didn’t quite go so far as to begin pumping him in earnest (as not even she was subtle enough to disguise _that _successfully), but she did relish in how he swelled under her touch, his own gaze locked somewhere between the table and absolute nothingness.

“Hi, Harry!” A cheerful voice interjected, and Daphne almost jumped – which could have been disastrous, revealing her actions – apparently, Luna had made her way over to their table without her notice.

“Hey, Lu,” Harry grunted, his voice slightly strained, “how’re you?”

“Oh, very good! I’m having a nice time with Susan, have you ever sat on her lap? She’s very comfortable,” the short blonde answered dreamily, “she has very nice breasts, after all.”

“Er,” Harry mumbled, and Daphne did _not _miss how his cock twitched in her hand at this statement, “I, uh, um…”

“I wasn’t aware the two of you were an item,” Daphne interjected, saving him from his own brain, “but I’m happy to see it. The wizarding world could use more reason to expand its horizons.”

“Oh,” Luna giggled, “We aren’t an item! Not that I’d be opposed, like I said, she has very nice breasts, but we’re just friends!”

_Hmm._

“You look good, too, Harry!” Luna continued, “your wrackspurt infestation is clearing up nicely!”

“Uh?” Harry answered, the poor man clearly didn’t have enough blood left in his brain to answer intelligently.

“Oh, yes! Wrackspurts,” Luna turned her attention to Daphne, her giant blue eyes open with interest, “are a tricky little beast: they feed on angst and sexual frustration, but they’re oh-so-contagious – the cure carries a risk of transmission, you know!”

_Uh-oh. _

“Oh?” Daphne tried to keep her tone something like “politely disinterested”, “and what does that have to do with Lord Potter-Black?”

“Oh, Harry spent _far _too long bemoaning his singledom,” Luna cheerfully answered, “but it’s clear he’s finally getting some action, you know? Anyways, I’ll leave you two to your… _conversation!” _

Both Harry and Daphne’s mouths opened in shock as Luna happily flounced away, and Daphne did not miss how Harry’s gaze tracked the blonde’s – admittedly, _very nice _– legs and arse as she went.

“So, you and Lovegood, eh?” She teased.

“Uh, no, I, er,” Harry stammered, “I haven’t done anything with Luna. I need a smoke.”

Unfortunately for Harry, _Astoria _had been passing by close enough to overhear this last statement, one which fit into her dear sister’s own machinations.

“Oh, Harry, don’t you try and run off out the front door again!” Astoria chastised, “there’s a balcony off of the study, Daph, you remember dad’s old study, yeah? Why don’t you show Harry where that is?”

_Why don’t I, indeed? _

* * *

Harry

His mind swam as Daphne bustled him down a hallway into a quiet room, shoving him inside and nearly slamming the door shut, pointedly turning the lock.

“Daph…” He started, not even sure what he was going to say. He was all _kinds _of confused, turned on, and confused about _why _he was turned on, between Daphne’s teasing, Luna’s… _Luna (flirting?)_, and the interplay between those two scenarios.

“Mister Potter-Black,” Daphne announced, imperiously, “welcome to the Greengrass family study. I spent many hours in here during my childhood, until my _father _decided that my time would be best spent learning how to be the _perfect wife_.”

_Merlin. Cyrus’s comments earlier must be why Daph was so against talking about pregnancy – the man saw her as a bloody broodmare… _

“Nevertheless,” she continued, drawing Harry deeper into the room, “have yourself a seat.” Crossing the room to a bar stand, she poured a _healthy _glass of what looked like scotch – or the Wizarding equivalent. “You and I, Mister Potter-Black, have two very important things to talk about.”

“Yeah?” Harry replied, not at his most eloquent.

“First, and most relevant to our locale,” Daphne strolled back towards him, placing the glass on the desk beside Harry’s seat, then leaning over him, “I’m going to suck your cock.”

_Fuck._

“Secondly,” as she kneeled down before him, “well, that can wait.”

Harry couldn’t find it in himself to question her, as she pulled his belt free of its buckle, lightly slapping his hands away as he tried to help her undo his trousers. When she pulled his half-hard member free, he swore that he heard a small moan escape her lips, but he couldn’t quite tell as she immediately wrapped said lips around his head.

“Fuck, Daph,” he began, but she was clearly in _no _mood for conversation, gripping him tightly about the base with two fingers and her thumb, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked on him, her head bobbing up and down over his member.

“Later,” she gasped, pulling free of his cock to lean down, practically _nuzzling _into his balls. Her tongue lavished attention over him, her hands busying themselves with jerking his cock as she left trails of saliva over his testicles, apparently on a _mission_ to blow him.

His suspicions were proven correct as her attention returned to his cock, her head bobbing in time with the grip of one hand, the other gently fondling his balls – this was no occasion for teasing or foreplay, she was _obviously _trying to get him off, and quickly, at that.

“Fffuck,” He groaned, quietly, which encouraged her. Her head stopped moving, replaced by a _frantic _pace of her hand, as she sucked and licked at the head of his dick. He reached to run a hand through her hair, which she didn’t object to, and when he pulled her tighter against himself, she was all-too-happy to accommodate him.

In fact, she took the lead, pushing forward and taking him into her throat as her hand gently _smacked _against her own lips, a sight which was enough to unmake Harry, with a quiet moan, he came, Daphne remaining attached to his cock, licking at the tiny slit at the head of his cock well after she’d drained the cum from him.

Standing, she reached for the glass of scotch, draining it in a single pull.

“Secondly, you have a message to send. I know she’s being irrational, but you’re going to reach out to Pansy, and you’re going to explain why she doesn’t have to be embarrassed about acting out in front of you. I’ve been thinking, and this whole _thing _we have going on is a lot of fun, but I’m not doing it unless it’s all three of us involved, you understand?”

His head still fuzzy, Harry could only nod.

“Now, Mister Potter-Black, you should have your cigarette.”

“Daph?” He asked.

“Yeah?”

“Did you just give me a blowjob to convince me to talk to Pansy?”

“Not at all, Harry,” She smirked, thankfully picking up on his joking tone, “I gave you a blowjob because I _want you_, and because it would undoubtedly infuriate my father to imagine his daughter ‘_debasing’_ herself in his former study. I told you to talk to Pansy because, fuck me, I _like _the two of you, but I’m not putting myself in the middle. Now, have your smoke, and let me know when you’ve sorted that out.”

Watching her arse swaying as Daphne left him behind, Harry did his trousers up, fishing a cigarette from his jacket as he opened the balcony, and helping himself to a glass of scotch of his own. Between Draco’s earlier advice and Daphne’s _demand_, he had begun to realize that he’d badly misunderstood why Pansy was so hurt by his actions – it wasn’t about the Aurors, or that he didn’t warn her, it was that she’d _expected _that he’d warn her about such things, then got mad at _herself _for expecting that and took it out on _him _so that he couldn’t realize she… expected him to care about her.

_Fuck. _

_Well. _

_I guess I have a letter to send. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one, kind of - this was originally meant to be a Harry chapter followed by a Daphne chapter, but it felt more organic to combine it in this way.
> 
> Comments are welcome! It definitely helps me when I know what is (or isn't) well-received, or to know that people are interested in the side-plots outside of the threeway sex which remains the focus of this fic haha


	15. Tragedy (Pansy/Harry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Pansy talk to each other, and come to an agreement. Then *come* to an agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter name is not really literal :P
> 
> Mostly plot, smut now with /feelings/

Pansy

Pansy lay on her back, her feet dangling off the end of the table, staring at the ceiling of _Serpentine_. It was safe to say that she was in a Mood-with-a-capital-‘M’, having completed the last of her commissions (save for the fucking dragonskin coat) _days_ ago, finding herself stranded in a void of being both too broke and too paranoid about the Aurors keeping tabs on her to do anything _fun_.

She’d even spent some time kicking herself over the fact that she _could _be shagging Daphne’s brains out to occupy herself, but that just didn’t feel right, somehow. Pansy had carefully weighed the pros and cons of exploring that particular feeling in further depth, before emphatically deciding against any sort of introspection.

Even more emphatically, she avoided any thoughts of _that man_, because she _really _didn’t want to find herself in a situation where she’d have to admit that she was completely, utterly, and _embarrassingly _in the wrong.

Blaise wasn’t even around to distract her, having left for the week to go to fucking _France_, to visit his _boyfriend_ – _you’ve gone soft, Zabini – _in a sickening display of _moral support _and _caring _that was thoroughly unbefitting of a Slytherin. From what she’d seen in the papers and heard from Blaise, it wasn’t even as if Miss Delacour (then Weasley, then Delacour again) was all that torn up, and Pansy found it hard to summon much sympathy for the Veela-blooded witch.

After all, it was her fault for managing to marry the one man on the entire fucking planet who would be stupid enough to cheat on a fucking _Veela _in favour of Lavender fucking Brown, such abject _idiocy _must have been readily apparent the entire time.

Groaning, she brought herself to a sitting position, grumbling and generally voicing her mood to her empty shop, the door still marked with a falsely cheerful “_The designer has received an exclusive commission and will be unavailable until it is completed” _note to explain herself to whatever potential customers might possibly still exist.

Pansy knew that things were well and truly dire when she didn’t even feel like getting drunk. With the way that things had been going, that just sounded like being bored _and _clumsy, rather than finding any sort of entertainment (or even self-satisfied inquietude) in a bottle.

When she heard a sharp tapping at one of her shop’s windows, she nearly _leapt _to a standing position, equally surprised and _desperate _for any kind of stimulation whatsoever. An official-looking owl perched impatiently at her windowsill against the miserably gray and rainy-looking sky outside, and Pansy practically cooed with delight as she hurried to receive her avian visitor. With luck, it would be bringing her a letter from the Auror’s office, granting her permission to re-open _Serpentine_. With _bad _luck, it would bring a letter from the same, telling her she was under arrest, but even that would at least be a change from this status quo.

“Yes, yes, quiet down, thank you,” she grumbled at the impatient bird, taking the scroll from its talons. The parchment was bound with a gold-and-brass seal which she _snipped_ through with one of her _own _talons (okay, so her black-painted nails were short and fairly blunt, but she wanted to keep her _aesthetic_ intact in her own mind).

_Huh._

Rather than from the Aurors as she had anticipated, the letter was from Gringotts. She skimmed through the overly-byzantine language that started the letter (the Goblins _loved _to hear themselves talk, even in written form), getting to the main point without further delay.

_Pansy Gwendolen Parkinson, please indicate a time of your earliest convenience that you will be prepared and organized to receive a sworn delivery of: ONE CRATE at the location where you have received and acknowledged receipt of this binding and committal form, GRINGOTTS LONDON BRANCH._

She blinked, confused.

_I don’t recall withdrawing anything… _she mused, unsure of what could have prompted this letter, but at least it wasn’t a notice that she’d overdrawn her account or something like that.

Fishing her wand from her purse, she muttered _tempus _to figure out what time it even was (a bit past half three, as it turned out), then marked quarter to four on the boldly underlined space, returning the scroll to the _disdainful-_looking owl, which seemed to turn up its nose at her as it took wing.

_Well, no point waiting, right?_

As she paced around the shop, trying to unravel the mystery before this mysterious package arrived, she continued to find herself at a loss. Gringotts wasn’t exactly a mail delivery service, so whatever she had been sent was either too valuable to be entrusted to others, or coming from someone with _considerable _pull among the Goblins. Either way, she found herself growing apprehensive: the suspicions that the Aurors had about her _really _weren’t that hard to decipher, it was _clear _that her father was up to some sort of vague not-quite-crimes once again, and she found herself growing antsy at the thought that _he _might have sent something to purposefully implicate her.

She was shaken from her spiraling anxiety by a heavy, official sounding knock (just one) at the front door of her shop, and she _absolutely did not _make a little “eep” of surprise as she jumped to her feet to go greet the delivery she was anticipating.

No less than _three _goblins stood on the front stoop, one wearing a suit of blood _armour _of all things, the other two standing protectively on either side of a large wooden crate stamped with the Gringotts seal.

“You are Miss Pansy Gwendolen Parkinson?” The armoured one spoke, brusquely.

“I am,” she began, about to ask who had sent this package before the goblin interrupted her.

“Sign here,” The goblin shoved another letter towards her, “using your wand.”

Confused, she went along with this direction, the goblin snatching the parchment away from her and staring at it mistrustingly as soon as she’d put her signature down. He (at least, she thought the being was a “he”) nodded once, then turned to the two at his side, grunting something in Gobbledegook and stabbing a finger in the air at the interior of her shop. Wordlessly, the… assistants lifted the crate, shuffling it through her door almost too quickly for her to get out of the way, setting it down heavily just inside the entryway.

_Smashing customer service, really, _she thought, dryly.

As _politely _as they had arrived, the head goblin muttered “As I witness, you have received this delivery,” then the three all turned on their heels and stomped away at once. _Baffling_.

Her curiosity immediately getting the best of her, Pansy went to the crate, looking for any kind of opening. Pondering the whole “sworn delivery” and “magical contract” nature of this unexpected development, she hazarded a guess and tapped the tip of her wand against the Gringotts seal on top of the box.

The top of the crate vanished, revealing a bolt of a dark material, black tinged with streaks of red, shiny scales overlapping on top of a dark leather that she recognized on sight.

_Dragonhide, _she realized with a gasp.

Her heart hammered in her chest, confusion and elation warring inside her at this – frankly – miraculous appearance of the one material that she’d been pursuing for _months_ now. The sheer _size_ of the bolt of dragonhide would be _more _than enough to complete the coat that Auror Tonks had commissioned, and if she had her estimates right, was probably worth hundreds, if not thousands of Galleons even in its raw state.

Tucked underneath the first layer of the precious material, she noticed a little piece of paper: an entirely-mundane looking envelope. With almost-shaking hands, she fished the envelope out, opening it.

The piece of paper within had a short message scrawled in a familiar hand.

_We should talk. – H_

_He…_

_What?_

_How did…_

_What is…_

The rapid-fire string of questions she was asking of herself fell away into a white-hot _feeling_: she couldn’t even tell what it was, some thrilling and yet painful sensation that boiled through her entire body and filled her with an energy that she was not entirely sure she’d ever experienced before.

After she hurriedly cast security charms on the crate of dragonskin, muttering to herself well after her spellcasting had completed, she slammed the door of _Serpentine _shut, storming off into the streets of Knockturn Alley. Maybe if she hadn’t torn Potter’s page out of her notebook, she could talk to him by those means, but that avenue was shut. Neither would she be content sending an owl in this _state _she found herself, and didn’t want to subject herself to the embarrassment of discovering he’d removed her from his Floo wards.

No, she could make her way to Potter’s fucking mansion the old-fashioned way, on foot.

* * *

It didn’t take her long to regret her decision.

Not because she had changed her mind on the destination: no, she still trod resolutely onwards, realizing that London was substantially larger than she pictured when she didn’t have magical means of transportation to rely on.

Instead she regretted her choice not to bring a fucking umbrella, as the gray-looking sky had darkened into an absolute _downpour_, and the neighbourhoods that she was stomping through were unfortunately _Muggle _in their populations, preventing her from casting water-repelling charms.

After what felt like hours, she found herself standing outside 12 _fucking _Grimmauld Place, steeling herself by taking a deep, shuddering breath.

Pushing her chin forwards, she strode to the door, pounding on it repeatedly, and if nothing else glad to be out of the rain beneath the portico at Potter’s front door.

The door practically flung itself open, revealing the man himself: he looked slightly _bedraggled _in a way that… wasn’t unappealing, a thick curtain of stubble across his jaw, his eyes marked with the slightest hints of dark circles.

“Fucking merlin, Pansy, you’re drenched. Come inside.” Potter spoke, reaching out to physically drag her through his entryway.

“Y-y-you!” She cried indignantly, realizing that she mustn’t look as intimidating as she’d have hoped while her teeth were chattering, “what-t-t’s the idea?”

“Later,” Harry spoke, his voice coming out deep, rougher than she remembered. _Or maybe I’d tried to forget? _“You get warmed up, then we’ll talk.”

Normally, she’d protest this assumption that he could tell her what to do.

_Normally_, she’d have turned on her heel and walked back outside, it took more than a bit of _rain _to affect Pansy fucking Parkinson.

**_Normally_**… well, she could find ways to take advantage of most circumstances, and, well, the idea of getting some warmth back into her body was something she didn’t care to turn down. Without any further exchange of words, Potter had somehow bustled her up his stairs, into his master bathroom.

“Have a hot shower,” he muttered, “I’ll lay a set of dry clothes out for you,” then he disappeared before she could even indignantly protest that she didn’t need his help, and that she was fully capable of casting warming and drying charms herself.

There _was _something to be said, however, for the entirely-mundane charm of the hot shower seeping into her skin, chasing away the shivers and prickles of gooseflesh that had begun to make up (what felt like) her entire body.

It was almost enough to make her forget her anger at the man whose shower she was standing in, which… _okay, might be a bit absurd_, she realized. Still.

Toweling herself dry, she pulled Potter’s bathrobe from the back of the door, walking outside to see a set of poorly-transfigured pajamas laid out on a chair beside the bathroom. She snorted derisively – she still had _some _standards to maintain, didn’t she?

She stomped down the stairs into the kitchen, where Potter sat at the table, a mug of coffee in front of him, and a second in front of the empty seat that was pulled out. She _slumped _into the chair, looking down her nose at him, as she watched his gaze crawl from the table top to her eyes, somehow skipping over the expanses of skin that _must _have been revealed by his half-done bathrobe she was wearing.

“So.” He spoke, the word a sentence in itself.

“So,” She answered, intending to let him stew in silence, then finding that words began to spill from her anyways, “so what are you fucking thinking? Do you have any idea how much that dragonhide is worth? What’s your big idea, to buy me off with some fucking leather?”

She swore that he almost _sneered _at her as if he were the image of a pureblood Slytherin, somehow, before the expression dropped from his face as quickly as it had ghosted across his features, replaced by something… _soft. _

“I figured it would get your attention,” Potter shrugged, “and it looks like I was right, yeah?”

“How _dare _you,” Pansy snarled, leaning forwards, “don’t fucking play games with me, Potter, after you get me shut down, then you try and _purchase _my attention? What the fuck?”

He blinked, his head jerking back.

“Shut you down?” He asked, clearly baffled, “Pansy, I, uh-“ Potter scratched the back of his head, that infuriating habit of his that he did whenever he wasn’t sure what to say, or whenever he was feeling shy, “I can’t talk about all of it, but I specifically reported that you _weren’t_ suspicious. What are you even talking about?”

_Fuck._

“I, you, you,” she wasn’t stammering, “I read your report, Potter. ‘_Serpentine’, _then some blacked-out bullshite, ‘_under suspicion’”. _

Harry just stared at her impassively, and she swore she could see gears slowly turning inside his stupid fucking green eyes.

“Pansy…” Potter practically groaned, “who was the Auror that shut you down?”

“One of your friends, I expect,” she snapped, “Auror Savage.”

Potter _did _let a groan out at that, throwing his head back against the chair he was seated in, showing how the stubble covering his jaw extended well below his Adam’s apple, practically to his chest.

“Fuck me…” Potter rolled his head back upright, fixing her with his gaze, “Pansy, Savage is… well… he’s an _arsehole_.”

_Fuck, fuck, fuck. _

“Like I said,” she sneered at him, “a friend of yours.”

“Look, I won’t say that I _know _him, I don’t think anyone can actually say that,” Harry took a sip from his coffee, and she watched his ridiculous hairy neck bob as he swallowed, “but I know _of _him, and, well… he’s a bloody nightmare.”

“Mm.” She grunted, unwilling to let Potter off the hook that easily, while also realizing just how badly she had… _misunderstood_.

“He’s a fucking brilliant Auror,” Harry continued, “but there’s just… he’s like the Ministry bureaucracy gave birth to a child on its own, and that progeny decided that he was going to dedicate his entire life to hunting down the slightest hint of Dark Magic. He was a Slytherin, you know.”

“I fail to see the relevance.” She looked down at her hands, inspecting her nails.

“He’s Muggleborn. He was in Slytherin, in the _Eighties_.”

_Oh, fuck_. Pansy found herself in the awkward position of feeling bad for Auror Beige-man.

“And this explains what?”

“Fuck,” Harry exhaled heavily, “I actually understand, now. I don’t blame you,” _what gives him the right to _forgive _me for anything? _Pansy’s thoughts shrieked, “he wields paperwork more effectively than any Hit-wizard wields their wand. In his eyes, he probably saw the chance to turn the pressure up on you, and he would have done that no matter _what _I said in my reports, Pans.”

That strange emotion that Pansy had felt earlier returned with a _vengeance_, and she found herself entirely confused and uncertain about what to do with it, snapping a response at Potter just to get him to stop talking.

“You could’ve fucking given me a heads up.”

“No, I couldn’t’ve,” Harry replied, sadly, “but you know that, and now I understand why you were so mad at me. It was a misunderstanding, yeah?”

_What the fuck do you understand about me, _she thought, scowling, as she finally reached forward to take a sip from her own coffee. It was black, almost sickeningly sweet, just the way she liked it.

_He remembered how I take my coffee. _

Of all fucking things, that was what caused the strange feeling coiling in her chest to _snap_, and she felt heat rising in her face, her eyes stinging.

“Fine!” She yelled, standing from the table in a jolt that caused Harry to jump in his seat. “I fucked up! It’s what I do, you should have fucking known!” She grabbed the bathrobe she was wearing with both hands, tearing it off herself. “I’ll fucking make it up to you, come fuck me!”

“Pansy…” Harry spoke, his voice low, coarse.

“Do whatever you fucking want to me,” she cried, as Harry stood up from his seat, slowly. “Just… fucking _fuck _me, slap me around if you want, you can fucking _hurt _me,” she felt something hot running down her face, “it’s all I’m fucking good for.”

“Pansy.” Harry closed the distance between them, his hands sliding up her sides, closing the bathrobe over her. “Shut up.”

She lunged towards him, pressing her face into his shoulder, as her hands weakly beat against his chest. She felt unfamiliar spasms go through her chest as she heard someone _weeping_ in the middle of Harry’s kitchen. Pansy knew that it was herself, but… _what am I doing. _

Harry just stood there, some kind of immovable fucking object, one of his hands gently rubbing over her back, over the bathrobe he’d re-dressed her in after she’d _displayed _herself before him. She was aware that he guided her into his lounge, that he sat her on his couch, and just… _sat beside her_, not touching her anywhere but her back, not _taking _her like she had thought he might.

She didn’t know how long it took for her to calm down, but for some fucking foolish reason, he didn’t leave her to be a _fucking disaster _on his couch alone, remaining beside her the entire time.

“Sorry.” She spoke, the word a sentence in itself.

“It’s alright,” he answered, that coarse edge missing from his voice.

“No, it’s, I,” Pansy grumbled, “I do actually need to apologize. I’m a fucking mess.”

“Heh,” Harry smirked, “yeah, I know the feeling. But, seriously, it’s alright.”

_Fucking infuriating noble prat. _

She leaned into him, nestling her face into his shoulder again.

“I wasn’t crying because of _you_,” Pansy insisted, “it’s just… it’s been a lot. I thought that I was done for before I even had a chance. Getting shut down and all.”

“Yeah, I’ve got that now,” Harry replied, “but I should apologize too, I figure. I’m not really good with the whole,” she felt him shrug, “subtleties thing. I didn’t think of what was going on, and I made assumptions I shouldn’t have.”

“Mm.” She replied, and they stayed quiet for a few minutes.

“So.” Pansy began, turning up to look at him. She knew that she must have looked like a fucking half-drowned rat at this point, but when she met Harry’s eyes, it didn’t seem like he minded.

“I think we have some lost time to make up for,” She drawled, and she felt Harry take a breath.

“Pansy… is that a good idea? I don’t want you to, y’know…” He trailed off.

She reached up with both hands, running her palms over the coarse stubble on his face, then pulling him down towards her own face. She kissed him softly, not pushing her tongue into his mouth, _not _yanking on his hair.

“Look, Harry, I’m… I’ve had some fucking shite men in my life, yeah? But I promise, I’m not trying to use sex to apologize or to hurt myself or anything like that,” the admission actually stung her, in a sweet way, “I… I actually want to. If you want.”

He kissed her again, allowing her to push him backwards onto the couch, as she crawled on top of him. He let her deepen the kiss, her tongue sweeping over his (which tasted vaguely like whiskey and cigarettes, in a way that she did _not _mind in the slightest), his hands hesitantly coming to rest on her arse.

“You’ll have to get used to this,” She drawled, as she sat upright, shrugging his bathrobe off her once more. This time, he didn’t try to put it back on her. “I’m _tempestuous. _I can swing from one end of the pendulum to the other in a heartbeat.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And you,” she trailed her hands down his chest, sliding them under the hem of his t-shirt, “are overdressed.”

Harry smirked, pushing himself upright as he shuffled out of his shirt, Pansy untangling herself from him and laying back on his couch as he undressed himself, spread open in a way which – somehow – didn’t feel _exposed_.

When he lowered himself over her, she reached between his legs, finding his manhood already stiffening. She took his lips in hers once more, pumping him with one hand as her other hand moved to tangle itself in his hair – though she didn’t even tug at it – rubbing the head of his cock against her entrance.

“You, uh,” Harry muttered, before she stopped him before he could get to worrying.

“I’m ready, Harry, _fuck me_.” And she _was _– _she_ wasn’t even sure when she had become turned on enough to take him inside herself, it wasn’t like they’d really done much foreplay, but somehow… she was _more _than ready. _Impatient_, even.

They both hissed out quiet breaths as he slid inside her, and she made a _pathetic _sound, tilting her hips up towards him when he had fully sheathed himself, his cock absolutely fucking _filling _her. She pulled his face against hers again, _this _kiss nowhere near “slow” or “gentle”, pulling his lower lip between her teeth as his hips rocked against her. Her hands danced over his hair, against his throat, as she trailed her fingertips over the tiny, sharp hairs covering his neck.

_Fuck_.

She knew that neither of them was going to last long, and she was fine with that – even though she was usually one for marathon sex. Her fingers tightened over his neck, _just enough to make him notice_, as his pace began to increase. Her legs, which she’d somehow managed to forget about until this instant, came to wrap around his hips, as if she was trying to pull him even deeper inside herself (_not that there’s any fucking room to _go _deeper_), and that motion was enough to _plunge _her over the edge, her orgasm hitting her like a thunderclap.

Instead of leaning back to cry out, or any of the usual way she expressed her pleasure, her hands went around the back of his neck, pulling his face even tighter against hers, the moan she made almost entirely muffled by his tongue. It wasn’t long before she felt him stiffen, felt his cock twitch inside of her, as Harry reached his own orgasm.

_Fuck. _

In the moments that passed, before they untangled themselves from each other, Pansy felt almost light-headed, unsure if her _display_ earlier, the sex itself, or somehow both were responsible.

“We’re gonna have to talk to Daph,” Harry muttered.

“Yeah,” Pansy agreed, “we definitely need to let her know that threeways are back on the table.”

She knew that there was more than that to talk about, but she wasn’t going to admit that to herself.

Not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, they're well-adjusted, aren't they? 
> 
> Not the most cheerful chapter I've ever written, but none of these three are exactly free of angst, and neither do they always process their feelings in the healthiest ways. 
> 
> Hopefully this makes some more sense of the previous "mysterious redactions in Harry's report", as well!
> 
> I look forward to hearing what you all thought of this chapter!


	16. Pyrotechnics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's plans with Daphne and Pansy are interfered with, he gets some pointed reminders of his own unique circumstances and how that might affect their relationship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: some (NON-SEXUAL) violence on-screen, nothing very explicit but if depicting injuries bothers you, you might want to skip the second and third sections of this chapter.
> 
> All plot, no smut!

Harry

Harry plodded back and forth in front of his closet, several different shirts and pairs of slacks already laid out on his bed, muttering indecisively under his breath. While he knew that – rationally speaking – he wasn’t even likely to _remain _dressed for long, or even that his choice of outfit mattered all that much, he still felt the need to _impress _on at least some level.

After all, it was the first time in quite some time that he had plans with both Daphne and Pansy, and he’d happily admit that he was rather more excited to see both of them than he was about his typical evening activities (“read reports, write reports, maybe have a drink”, of late). While he’d removed himself from the Parkinson-Rosier investigation, he found himself unsettled in a strange way ever since, the case having apparently re-ignited some part of his inquisitive mind and left him wanting _more _cases to sink his teeth into.

The Aurors, of course, had been happy to oblige him. He knew that, at some point, he’d have to sit down and actually think through his own status with their office: he definitely enjoyed the freedom and self-direction that his current vague “contractor” status allowed him, but at some point he’d probably have to quit putting it off and become an Auror officially.

Lately he’d found himself thinking more and more of the vague, uncertain “future” – which in turn led him to wonder whether this was a mark of maturity, or whether he was starting to panic a bit at the extent to which his relationship (relationship_s_, plural?) with Pansy and Daphne was beginning to reshape itself.

Though Harry knew that he’d never be the most perceptive person in a room, even someone who could (admittedly) be as utterly _dense _as himself had managed to pick up on the fact that something had _changed _the last time he’d seen Pansy. Speaking for himself, he was no stranger to emotional displays including crying on someone’s shoulder, but he knew that Pansy Parkinson _did not cry_… unless it was on his own shoulder, apparently.

He’d spent the last few days chasing his thoughts in circles over what this could mean. The simplest explanation would merely be that she was stressed out to the point where even someone as ferocious as Pansy broke down, and he could move past that easily, but it didn’t really square with the _mood _when she’d started crying. Harry knew that “happy tears” were a thing for some people (he’d certainly seen evidence enough of this at Ron and Astoria’s announcement), and what had happened with Pansy felt like half tragedy and half… _something _like that.

Daphne’s presence, too, was something that had increasingly grown to baffle him. She’d definitely been correct in her own assumptions about why Pansy was upset, and her request (command?) that she’d delivered alongside a frankly _spectacular _blowjob was absolutely the right action to take. Repairing the ties between all three parties involved in this nebulous _arrangement _had been simple, easy, and above all felt _natural_.

Then there was the bombshell that Luna had dropped on him weeks ago… if he needed to pursue two wives in order to maintain the two lines which he’d publicly claimed, then wouldn’t he be _obligated _to date two women at once? If that was the case, wouldn’t Pansy and Daphne just make sense, considering that the two of them _enthusiastically _enjoyed each others’ company as much as his own?

On the other hand, wasn’t he also just getting overly-emotional and easily attached, just like Pansy had warned him not to?

Finally selecting what he thought was a suitable outfit (dark gray slacks, a deep crimson-ish button-up, skip the tie) for the evening, he sighed. When he’d reached out to the pair of them to make plans for tonight, he’d framed it as a casual “hey, let’s fuck” invitation, but he was quickly realizing that he’d _have _to initiate some of these more serious conversations. Between Pansy actually showing her emotions to him (_Pansy Parkinson, feeling things, _he smirked) and Daphne saying “I like the both of you” as her rationale for pushing Harry and Pansy towards each other again… well, it was probably past time.

Harry’s fireplace roared to life, spitting green flames, and he quirked an eyebrow. He wasn’t expecting his _guests _for another few hours, and neither of the witches used firecalls that Harry had seen, preferring the more modern methods of enchanted notebooks and the like.

“Hello?” He spoke into the flames.

“Harry!” Tonks’ familiar face appeared, “Suit up, we’re moving on Rosier. Hurry!”

_Fuck._

“What happened?” Harry felt himself shift automatically into a familiar mindset, while _romance _was nearly unknown to him, _this _was familiar if not comfortable.

“Rosier got spotted moving a Shrine of Sorrow. Authorization just came from King, we’re hitting him in,” Tonks seemed to look down, as if checking a timepiece, “fourty seven minutes. Meet me at the Minstry.”

_Double fuck._

“Yeah.” Harry acknowledged her, nodding as he dismissed the firecall, and hurrying himself into a rarely-used room deep within Grimmauld Place. He quickly scanned over a variety of charmed objects and useful trinkets he’d collected, trying to assess what he’d need to carry out a raid on Rosier.

Rosier, apparently, being more seriously involved in Dark Magic than Harry had anticipated. A Shrine of Sorrow was some _really fucking dark _shite to have on hand, a ritual object that required the sacrifice of an _orphan _to create.

_Maybe I’m taking it a bit personally, _he thought, as he pulled his dragonhide cuirass over his chest. He inspected the matching pauldrons to the chestpiece (part of an entire bloody _suit of armour _made of dragonhide) before snorting and returning them to storage – for all that he might be moving _serious shite_, Rosier was a bloody _accountant_, right?

He thought about donning the Cloak of Invisibility, but that felt like overkill (_as well as something that belonged more in the past_), so he settled for a quick-draw wand holster and a much more ordinary cloak with some minor disillusionment charms before rushing back towards his fireplace.

_Only one thing left to do, _Harry thought, as he snatched his enchanted notebook from a tabletop.

“Hey, work emergency came up. Shouldn’t take all night. I’ll message you both after.” He wrote in a hurry, in the restored three-person conversation between Daphne, Pansy, and himself. “Sorry.”

_Well, it’s better than old times, _he thought, tossing the notebook aside, throwing Floo powder into the fire, and authoritatively speaking “Ministry of Magic”.

* * *

Rosier’s residence couldn’t be called a “mansion” properly, but it did its best to emulate one in terms of the ornate carvings and sculptures which decorated the gardens just past the main gate.

“He’s got wards up,” Auror Savage spoke – as he always did – dispassionately, “easy enough to knock down, but he’ll know we’re here.”

_I should probably have some words with you, Savage, _Harry thought, but he pushed that particular idea away. Not the time, not the place.

“Right,” Tonks muttered, “in that case, we’re going loud and fast. I’m on point. Harry, you take second.”

Harry nodded, understanding Tonks’s orders. Though he probably shouldn’t make a _habit _of it for his own sake, he simply _fit _into Auror strike teams, some combination of his previous experiences (including, maybe, Quidditch) serving to leave him fast to understand orders, fast to act, and _effective _in raids.

“Alright. Go on three.” Tonks commanded.

Savage drew his wand, pointing it at the gate as Tonks held up three fingers, then two, then one.

“_Rupturo!” _Savage yelled, and a burst of sparkling red-blue magic splashed against the invisible shape of Rosier’s wards, which shuddered in the air before breaking with a distinct crackling sound. Immediately, a wailing sound began to echo from Rosier’s house, some enchanted object alerting him to the presence of intruders.

Harry moved quickly behind Tonks as she rushed to Rosier’s entryway, her wand dancing in the air as she cast detection charms and prepared counter-jinxes if necessary. Luckily, Rosier’s door seemed to be guarded by (strangely) conventional means – the heavy lockbolt falling to pieces around Tonks’s hurried casting of the reductor curse.

The interior of Rosier’s house practically _screamed _“I wish I was a Dark Wizard but I don’t have the guts”, it was festooned with carvings of sinister figures such as serpents or other magical beasts, lit mostly by candles, and the walls were _literally _painted black.

Following Tonks’s choppy hand gestures, Harry swept past her into what he assumed was Rosier’s kitchen, finding it almost entirely empty, dark cupboards looming over a table with a single seat at the head. Scanning the surroundings quickly, Harry spotted one particular statue of a cockatrice, which was what was shrieking the alarm. He silenced it, before turning to rejoin with Tonks and the rest of the team.

“Kitchen’s clear,” Harry reported.

“Lounge’s clear,” Savage added.

“There’s a hallway that’s sealed,” The third member – an Auror that Harry wasn’t familiar with named Jenkins – concluded, “past the main hall.”

The quartet shuffled through Rosier’s house to where Jenkins had discovered this exception, a short hallway that sent shivers up the back of Harry’s neck. The far end was indeed barred with a nearly _intimidating _oaken door, but the hall itself was nearly pitch-black, not even lit by candle, the shadowy shapes of dragons and basilisks carved into the walls themselves.

“On me,” Tonks ordered, striding into the hallway, Harry close behind her.

Perhaps it was his instincts alone, or perhaps he noticed a subtle hiss, the faint scent of sulfur, but they’d made no more than two steps into the hallway before Harry leapt into action, grabbing Tonks by her cloak and physically hurling her behind him, out of the hall. It was just in time, as the hall’s guardians came to life, a pair of dragon statues with glowing red eyes and flame spewing from their carved maws.

_Fuck! _Harry swore to himself as he turned away from the fire, feeling the flames lick over his back and singe his cloak.

“_Protego!_” He cried, a shield springing into existence to block the fire, allowing him to see how the paired statues served to pressure intruders away from the door – not _quite _lethal in their literal firepower, but enough to buy time for Rosier to finish whatever he was doing behind his closed door.

_Fuck that, _Harry thought. Taking a breath, he dropped the shield, the flames kissing his skin once more as he bellowed “_Finite!_” with his wand pointed at the stone dragons: thankfully, the counter-spell succeeded, the red light fading from the statues’ eyes and the flames disappearing from the air.

Grumbling, Harry took another step forwards – though it had been only seconds that he’d been exposed to the false dragon’s fire (he still heard Tonks scrambling to her feet behind him), between the time to sweep the rest of the house and this delay, there was no telling how much evidence Rosier had had the chance to destroy.

Channeling his anger into his spell, he pointed his wand at the looming oak door and yelled “_Reducto!_” with all his might.

_Oh, fucking bullshite, _he realized, as the door **_exploded _**with much more force than it should have, _fucking rebounding jinx._

With what little time he had to react, Harry shied away from the storm of splinters that the door had become, sheltering his face under his arm. He felt the pin-prick stabs of shrapnel dancing along his exposed skin, with the heavier, burning sensations in a couple spots indicating more substantial wounds. In particular, his right shoulder had flared with heat and then gone partially numb – _should have worn the fucking pauldrons after all, fuck._

_Too fucking slow, _he chastised himself, as he clambered back to his feet and lurched to the end of the hallway, _not clever enough, a fucking _dark accountant _outsmarted you. _Unsteadily, he bulled through what fragments remained of the once-formidable door, crashing into the room beyond, still trailing a bit of smoke from the encounter he’d had with Rosier’s dragon statues.

Inside the room, he was greeted to the sight of a nebbish, dirty-blonde man – _Rosier _– who was staring at him with shocked eyes and holding an armful of documents. A quick glance across the room revealed that Rosier’s fireplace was absolutely _crammed _full of paper, presumably ledgers or other forms of evidence he was in the middle of destroying.

“Wesley Rosier,” Harry’s voice felt rougher than he’d expected, “you are under arrest for the suspicion of smuggling, transporting, and possessing Dark Artefacts.”

Rosier’s gaze flickered to the fireplace, back to Harry, dipping to Harry’s hand before his calculating eyes met Harry’s own gaze.

“Ah, Auror Potter,” as it turned out, Rosier’s voice was somewhere between “smooth” and “nasally”, “You’ve caught me in the middle of some light house cleaning. Once I finish here, I’ll gladly come to the Ministry to clear up any misunderstandings.”

“Don’t move.” Harry ordered, as Rosier turned towards the fireplace, tossing the armful of documents he was carrying into it.

“I’m afraid,” Rosier spoke, smugly, as he pointed his wand at his fireplace, “you’ve misplaced your wand, Potter.”

_Fuck_. Harry realized that he must have dropped his wand when he’d caught a splinter to his shoulder.

Rosier flicked his wand, beginning an incantation.

“Incen-“ Rosier began.

“_Sectumsempra,” _Harry growled, slashing his empty hand through the air.

In short order, two things happened: Rosier’s wand dropped from his hand (alongside a couple of smaller objects), and Rosier _screamed_.

* * *

“Well, _that _was a right fucking mess,” Tonks assessed, as she and Harry stood outside of Rosier’s grounds, a cigarette hanging out of Harry’s mouth.

“Got him, didn’t we?” Harry would have shrugged, but the motion felt painful. Frowning, he inspected his right shoulder – the so-called “splinter” he’d felt earlier turned out to be more like “a small spear”, a piece of wood a few inches long still stuck in the flesh of his shoulder.

“Yes,” Tonks admitted, “and as an _Auror_, I can say that you were brilliant. But as your _friend, _what the _fuck _was that, Harry?”

“Er,” Harry didn’t know how to answer this. _I sure didn’t bloody feel brilliant, _he thought, recalling how he was too slow, too unprepared. “A raid?”

“You threw yourself into a _fireball, _blew up a door _through _a rebounding jinx and _at yourself_, then you nearly cut Rosier’s bloody hand off. Harry,” Tonks’s voice dropped from “frustrated” to “concerned”, “you doing alright, mate? That’s not… healthy.”

“Uh,” Harry _tsk_ed as he searched for a change in topic, “you remember the blood-replenishing charm, yeah?”

“…yes?” Tonks replied, confused.

“Mm,” Harry answered, reaching to grasp the piece of door stuck in his shoulder, then wrenching it loose. Thankfully, the numb feeling in his shoulder and fingertips vanished immediately, and as it turned out, the blood-replenishing charm was unnecessary.

“Harry…” Tonks admonished, “yeah, alright, you’re _very_ _badass_ and all, but you’re speaking to Proudfoot when we get back to the Ministry.” Shaking her head in a way that seemed half exasperated, half impressed, Tonks muttered something that sounded like “hero complex” as she strode away.

_Fair enough, _Harry thought.

* * *

“We simply _must _stop meeting like this, Harry,” Proudfoot – one of the many Aurors who preferred their last name - taunted, as he hung his jacket on the back of his office door. Proudfoot had become something along the lines of a field medic at some point in his Auror career, having just enough training to be useful as a healer without being bound by things like “duty to report” or “medical oaths” that the Aurors sometimes found inconvenient.

“You know me, _Rober_t,” Harry teased in reply, “anything for some attention, yeah?”

“And what _does _bring you here this time?” Proudfoot scrubbed his hands in his sink – a Muggle convention, but one that Harry agreed with – before walking to stand beside the makeshift medical bench where Harry was sat.

“Oh, the usual,” Harry smirked, “I was on fire a little bit, a few stab wounds, there might be some pieces of a door left in me.”

“Pfft,” Proudfoot smirked in return, “you’re just lucky that I managed to reattach Rosier’s fingers. ‘_Dismemberment of the suspect’ _isn’t covered in the terms of your contract, even if your _own _dismemberment is.”

“I’m hardly _dismembered,” _Harry protested, “just a bit impaled is all.”

Chuckling under his breath, Proudfoot poked at Harry’s shoulder, assessing the efficacy of the healing charms that Harry himself had cast, then shrugging and pulling Harry’s arm out to its full extension. Harry definitely felt a twinge in his shoulder, but it hardly seemed fussing over.

“Well, luckily for you, you seem to be mostly in one piece,” Proudfoot concluded, slumping into a chair beside his desk, “but that’s not actually why Tonks wanted me to talk with you.”

“Oh?” Harry was curious now – if not the splinters and minor burns, why else would Tonks send him to the Auror’s private medic?

“Apparently you managed to _blow up _a rebounding jinx, if Tonks is right,” Proudfoot explained, leaning forward so that his elbows were perched on his knees, his chin resting on the backs of his folded hands. “That takes some _serious_ magical capacity, and the fact that your reductor curse then _detonated _a door only more so.”

“Uh,” Harry frowned, trying to puzzle this out, “thanks?”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Proudfoot muttered, “are you aware of some of the… subtler aspects of magical power?”

“I, er,” Harry tried to recall various lectures that Hermione had given him, finding patience difficult to hold onto as he just wanted to leave the Ministry and get a hold of Pansy and Daphne, “no?”

“It’s not exactly a science,” Proudfoot explained, leaning back, casually, “but there’s some little quirks about magical nature that become more evident the more _juice _you’ve got. You probably heal pretty quick, yeah?”

Harry nodded – he’d practically had a private bed in the medical wing at Hogwarts, to say nothing of the _tender and loving _care he’d experienced at the Dursley’s, or the wounds he’d acquired in the Second Wizarding War, and yet he found that he was usually in pretty decent health despite all that.

“Yeah, that’s part of it. You’ll probably live longer than most witches and wizards,” Proudfoot continued, “presuming, of course, that you don’t manage to get yourself killed in some foolish way before then. But there’s some more… insidious aspects.”

_Fuck, that doesn’t sound promising._

“Such as?” Harry hesitantly inquired.

“Well, powerful magic users tend to attract… let’s say ‘_allies’_,” Proudfoot shrugged, “a lot of people listened to Dumbledore just because he was _Dumbledore_, and I don’t have to make mention of any darker comparisons. With that said, you’re going to have to become more aware of this, especially if you’re still getting stronger even now.”

“I, uh, how’s that?” Harry was baffled.

“It’s not like it’s the Imperius or even comparable to mood-altering potions, but you’ve got an _aura _of a sort around you, you’re going to have to make sure that you maintain a healthy support network.” Proudfoot stood, pulling a drawer of his desk open, and fishing a jar of some sort of salve from within, tossing it to Harry. “Magic has its own nature, but I’d personally feel more comfortable if your power finds expressions among your friends and loved ones, rather than, say, blowing things up and cutting people’s hands off.”

“Err,” Harry frowned, “sorry?”

“You’re already a great man, Harry,” Proudfoot clapped him on the shoulder, “and I say that because of who you are, not what you’ve done – but magic doesn’t necessarily distinguish things that way. You’ll find yourself pushed in different directions, and I’m advising you now that you want to find _healthy _outlets for your power.”

“Such as?” Harry felt… well, not _uncomfortable_, but vaguely put off: now that Proudfoot explained the concept he _did _remember Hermione explaining how powerful magic-users gained _followers _over time, which could be close friends, a network of allies, or something closer to _servants _depending on the witch or wizard in question.

“Well,” Proudfoot smirked, “the salve I gave you is enchanted so that it draws on someone caring for you rather than your own magic. You’ll have to get someone else to rub it into you.”

“That’s-“ Harry started.

“A dirty trick? _Absolutely!”_ Proudfoot’s smirk became positively _malicious _at this point, “Robards isn’t the only one who tries to rig the game in his favor, you know. Have no fear, I’m sure you can find a lovely young woman to give you a massage. Maybe more than one, since you're oh-so powerful and all.”

_That’s why I’m trying to get out of here, _Harry smirked.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Harry grumbled as he stood, exiting the room, “you’re all _very concerned _about my love life.”

“Just looking out for you,” Proudfoot chuckled, “have a good night, Harry.”

_Hope I do, _he thought.

“Yeah, you too, Proudfoot.”

* * *

Harry sat in his dining room, wincing slightly as he reached for a glass of whiskey. After returning home, he’d found that many of the minor burns, scrapes, and splinters that he’d picked up had begun to ache, and he’d _really _been hoping that he’d put his body through an entirely different kind of challenge this evening.

Grumbling, he reached for his notebook, where he noted with a frown that neither Pansy or Daphne had replied to him. Worrying, he scrawled another message to the two of them.

_“Hey, sorry, there was a raid. It went okay. If you two are still free and aren’t mad at me, could I still see you?”_

There was a delay of a few minutes (where Harry had begun to convince himself that the pair weren’t going to speak to him any more) until a reply caused his notebook to vibrate.

He raised an eyebrow, recognizing Pansy’s handwriting, but the message coming from Daphne’s notebook:

“Sorry, we got… distracted. Didn’t mean to ignore you. We’ll be over in ten?”

_Distracted, hey? _Harry thought, a smirk breaking across his features. _Think I’ll want to hear _all _about that._

Underneath the idle fantasizing, a second feeling settled over his thoughts, a calm that came with a simple, yet reassuring thought: _they understand. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mixing things up a little bit again with some briefer scene changes, and a bit of a demonstration of Harry's combat prowess - and some of his insecurities.
> 
> There's a lot of little breadcrumbs in this chapter for ways that Harry, Pansy, and Daphne's futures *could* go, and I'm wondering if those came across AND what you think of them :P


	17. Choreography - Part One (Daphne/Pansy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daphne and Pansy find a way to keep themselves occupied while Harry is busy on the Rosier Raid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty much entirely smut!

Daphne

_“Hey, work emergency came up. Shouldn’t take all night. I’ll message you both after.”_

_“Sorry.” _

Daphne frowned. She’d already found herself finding things to do to pass the time until she was supposed to meet up with Harry and Pansy, so this latest development was particularly undesirable for her.

_What kind of work emergency comes up after seven? _She wondered, as she realized once again that for all she’d gained an understanding of him in recent months, there were significant parts of Harry’s life that were a complete and utter mystery to her.

Then again, “work” was also something of a mystery: though none of the three in their peculiar little arrangement had schedules anywhere near “conventional”, Daphne was _particularly_ free from those sorts of commitments. The interest from various trusts paid for the rent for her flat, and the pieces of artwork she sold here and there covered the rest of her “as I feel like it” purchases, causing her to frown a bit further as she reflected on her particular station in life.

Ever since Ronald and Astoria’s announcement, she’d noticed a subtle change to the content of her idle musings about her own life. Where a lot of the excitement and intrigue of her social circles had often revolved around “who’s hooking up with whom”, now the same kinds of conversations seemed to focus on “when are the so-and-so’s getting married” or “do you think Mr. and Mrs. Etc. are getting pregnant?”, which she found herself… _not _particularly interested in discussing.

Daphne had decided that it was partly rooted in the fact that, _for fuck’s sake_, she was still too _young _to even be considering settling down, which in turn inspired a new surge of resentment against the expectations of Pureblood society to marry and begin a family as soon as it was realistically possible. On the other hand, she wasn’t blind to the fact that a _significant _number of people her age had already paired off, and she was self-aware enough to understand that her frustration also carried a tinge of worry that she’d wind up left behind somehow.

Of course, the fact that Harry had basically swept in and utterly _demolished _her father in a way that was - somehow - “the noble knight rescues the distressed maiden” and _not _“I’m protecting you because I don’t trust you to take care of yourself” _damn well _played a role in these thoughts.

_Merlin, _Daphne thought, _he _really _is something special._

Was _she_? Daphne held herself in what she thought was a fairly reasonable level of esteem, she knew that she was intelligent, talented in her own specialties, and objectively attractive, but compared to _Harry _at his best, a Noble Lord whose mere presence commanded attention without even getting into the absurd list of achievements in his life... she nearly felt _ordinary_.

Then again, this whole thing was explicitly meant to be casual, under-the-table (_heh, _she thought, as she remembered _that _part of the dinner party fondly), and all, yeah? So why was she concerned about what kind of _match _Harry would be looking for? Besides, the answer to that was fairly obvious: he despised public attention from everything Daphne had seen, he tended to isolate himself and could be called “brooding”, and there was a streak of _something _darker than she’d expected underneath the good-natured cheer and moments of awkwardness. Clearly, Harry would gravitate to someone like Pansy, who was _much _fiercer than him, didn’t give a _fuck _about public perception, and was sharp enough to keep Harry on his toes.

_Fuck. _She grumbled. _We actually need to figure out what all this _is_, or I’m going to drive myself mad worrying over what every little thing “means”. _

Taking matters back into her own hands, she flipped open her enchanted notebook, penning a message to Pansy.

“_Are you as bored as I am right now?”_

_“MERLIN, yes,” _Daphne smirked at the immediate reply, “_would you like to come over? Blaise is away for the weekend. Again.”_

That sounded _substantially _better than sitting around moping and getting caught in her own thoughts, Daphne decided.

* * *

“So, a ‘work emergency’, hmm?” Daphne mused, sitting beside Pansy on a couch and sipping a tea, “what do you figure that’s about?”

“Hmm,” Pansy tapped a finger against the side of her own mug, “emergency on a Saturday evening? He’s on a raid, I figure.”

“A _what?_” Daphne’s heart skipped a bit – she was under the impression that Harry’s work with the Aurors was considerably more _bureaucratic _than that.

“A raid? You know, Aurors show up, knock a door down, shout a bunch and wave their wands about,” Pansy shrugged, “I guess that my family was probably on the receiving end of more than yours was.”

“No, we,” Daphne felt, again, like she was entirely unequipped to handle this information, “isn’t that dangerous? Is he going to be okay?”

Pansy actually snorted – an outburst that really shouldn’t have been as attractive as it certainly _was _– before explaining.

“You _do _know how many times Harry should have died already, yeah? I think a raid on some smugglers or whatever is well within his hands.”

Daphne quirked an eyebrow, raising her mug to her lips, prompting Pansy to continue.

“I don’t know _what _it is but it seems like my father’s mixed up in some Dark Magic bullshite once again,” Pansy shrugged, “I’m _more _than certain that Harry could handle my father if it came down to it, and I doubt that there’s any particularly worrying Dark Wizards running about unchecked. He’ll be fine.”

“Mm,” Daphne muttered a reply, “he ‘handled’ _my_ father already, at that.”

“Oh?”

“At Ronald and Astoria’s announcement dinner,” Daphne explained, “my father was being particularly… _contentious_. Harry may or may not have implied that he’d duel my father in a Lord’s Feud if he didn’t shut up.”

Pansy practically _cackled _a laugh. “Fuck, I wish I had been there to see that! Cyrus must have been _terrified._”

“Not scared enough to stop himself from offering me up as a concubine,” Daphne shrugged, “but I haven’t heard a peep from him since, so whatever Harry did after that seems to have worked.”

“Ugh,” Pansy scowled, “fucking… _Purebloods. _Can you believe that we ever went along with all that shite, fucking ‘blood purity’ this, ‘proper Pureblood lady’ that, it’s all fucking nonsense.”

_Understatement of the year, that_, Daphne thought, as a puzzle piece clicked into place in her mind. She was _keenly _aware of the fact that Harry was the Lord of _two _Noble Houses, which meant that he’d be well within his rights to claim a second wife at some point… a position which had traditionally amounted to “a concubine with a fancy name” in Pureblood tradition.

Strangely, this realization made her feel better: while she _certainly _wasn’t planning a wedding (or any kind of long-term future, really), the lingering doubt about her _place _in such a hypothetical arrangement started to dissipate. There was absolutely no way that Harry would treat his… _wives_ in such a manner, no matter what the instincts imparted by her Pureblood upbringing were saying. _Fucking Purebloods, indeed_.

“I’ll say,” Daphne sipped her tea, which was almost empty, “I’m glad he was there.”

“He _is _quite the hero, isn’t he?” Pansy drawled, smirking, “the git sent me an entire bolt of dragonhide just to get me to pay attention to him. Honestly. He doesn’t even know that he’s doing it.”

“Mm,” Daphne agreed, “I imagine that it worked, though. Y’know, I _did _push him to reach out to you.”

“Oh?” Pansy’s smirk only grew more devious, “and how’d you convince him of that?”

“Well…” Daphne felt a bit of a flush growing on her cheeks, “I made a very persuasive argument,” she sipped her tea, pausing for dramatic effect, “and I sucked his cock in my father’s old study.”

“Ha!” Pansy cried in laughter, throwing her head back, “then I _also _have to thank you for the make-up sex!”

“Oh?”

“Oh, fuck yes,” Daphne noticed that Pansy had a bit of a flush of her own, “okay, maybe it wasn’t really ‘make-up’ sex, I got all my yelling and emotional displays and all that out of the way before we actually got to it… but, yeah, _fuck._”

“Pans?” Daphne set her tea mug down.

“_Yes_,” Pansy practically answered Daphne’s question with the heat in her voice.

“Where’s your bedroom?”

* * *

They’d crashed into Pansy’s bed before Daphne could even take much account of Pansy’s heretofore unseen bedroom, which she _certainly _wasn’t complaining about.

“So, you’re telling me,” Pansy gasped, in between kisses and almost-frenzied gropes, “that you sucked Mister _Hero _off, and he didn’t even return the favour?”

“Mm,” Daphne writhed under Pansy’s ministrations, “I was hardly complaining.”

“Oh, this won’t do,” Pansy nipped at Daphne’s earlobe, catching one of Daphne’s earrings between her teeth, “it’s been far too long since you’ve been _fucked_.”

_I agree, _Daphne thought, a moan escaping her lips as Pansy trailed her teeth gently against the side of her neck. Daphne was already mostly-undressed, her blouse removed and thrown against the side of the bed, having been divested of her skirt even before they’d entered the bedroom, and she was beginning to protest the disparity in hers and Pansy’s state of undress.

When she reached between Pansy’s legs, trying to snake her hand under the band of Pansy’s own skirt, only to be stopped by Pansy snatching her wrist and pressing it against her headboard, Daphne _did _whine in protest.

“Oh, no, no, sweet,” Pansy silenced Daphne with a kiss, “this is about _you_. I can’t leave that injustice unresolved.”

_“Sweet”? _Daphne thought, musing on the first pet name she’d _ever _heard coming from Pansy. _I can accept that. _

“Turn over,” Pansy ordered, her voice husky, and Daphne was all-too-happy to obey. She moaned when Pansy slapped her hands down on Daphne’s arse, the panties she was wearing swiftly removed and thrown aside. Daphne bit her lip as she felt Pansy’s breath over her sex, whimpering as Pansy slowly trailed her tongue over Daphne’s _other _lips.

“_Ah_!” Daphne gasped as Pansy slapped her arse, the sting proving a _very _pleasurable accompaniment to the slow, gentle strokes of Pansy’s tongue. When Pansy reached up to shove Daphne further into her mattress, Daphne was all too happy to oblige, raising her arse even further into the air.

“Mmff,” Daphne groaned, her face pressed into Pansy’s sheets, as Pansy’s tongue trailed slowly _upwards_, dancing slowly around Daphne’s arse cheeks, then flicking over the ring of her arsehole. _Fuck, yes_, Daphne thought, the new sensation _definitely _one she approved of. Pansy’s hands trailed slowly up Daphne’s thighs, her blunted nails scraping torturously against Daphne’s over-sensitive flesh, before one of Pansy’s fingers began to slowly tease Daphne’s entrance.

“Don’t fucking stop,” Daphne slurred, though she wasn’t even sure if her words were understandable. Her _tone _certainly fucking was.

One finger, then two, slid into Daphne’s dripping pussy at an agonizingly slow pace, as Pansy began to press her tongue flat against Daphne’s arsehole, the quick, side-to-side motion contrasting _deliciously _with the slow, languid pace at which Pansy was fucking Daphne with her fingers.

Just as Daphne felt an orgasm beginning to approach, Pansy withdrew (to a noise of protest from Daphne which was _not _a mewl), pulling her fingers free with an audible _schlick_ing sound. Daphne yelped when Pansy slapped her arse again, rubbing her own thighs together.

“Mm,” Pansy drawled, “your arse is spectacular_. You’re _spectacular.”

“Paaansy,” Daphne whined, “I didn’t cum.”

Another slap on her arse stopped her protest momentarily, a gasp escaping Daphne’s lips.

“Be a good girl,” Pansy ordered, “stay like that for a second.”

Daphne obeyed, writhing on her hands and knees as she heard Pansy rummaging in her bedside dresser.

“Turn over.”

Huffing an excited breath, Daphne rolled over to her back, the sight of Pansy standing confidently in front of her sending a whole new jolt of arousal through her core. The brunette witch had stripped herself at some point, now gloriously naked – with the notable exception of a harness pulled over her groin, a plastic phallus jutting out.

“_Fffuck,” _Daphne groaned, as she spread her legs open without needing to be told to.

“That’s a good girl,” Pansy smirked, crawling forwards, pulling Daphne’s face to hers for a rough kiss, their tongues dancing against each other. As Pansy nipped Daphne’s lower lip between her teeth, she pushed her hips forward, the strap-on sliding into Daphne slowly, easily.

“_Fuck me,” _Daphne begged, and Pansy pushed one of her hands up under Daphne’s chin, the dark-eyed gaze of lust in her eyes enough on its own to cause Daphne to tremble.

Pansy continued her agonizing pace until their hips met, and then Daphne was all _hers_. Pansy immediately began to set a frantic pace, soft slapping sounds marking each of her thrusts, as she trailed her hand around Daphne’s jaw, gently squeezing at the sides of her neck.

Daphne couldn’t help but think of a comparison between her two recent lovers: Harry was usually _softer_, his strokes slower but _deep_, whereas Pansy was rougher (which was _excellent_), the thrusts of the strap-on quick and shallow into Daphne’s needy cunt.

When Pansy’s grip tightened around Daphne’s neck (though still soft enough that it didn’t _hurt_), it was only a matter of time. Sure enough, Daphne came _explosively_ under Pansy, her moans only slightly stifled by Pansy’s hand on her throat.

_“Fuck.”_ Daphne’s statement was _certainly _sufficient to describe her state, after she came down from that glorious peak.

“You liked that, I take it,” Pansy teased, pressing a gentle kiss against Daphne’s neck, “not too rough?”

“Fuck, that was perfect.” Daphne basked in the afterglow, her mind swimming, finding it hard to come up with much of a thought about anything. Pansy chuckled, sliding the artificial phallus out of Daphne slowly, turning to lay against Daphne’s side.

The buzzing of her notebook against Pansy’s bedside table – _don’t even remember bringing that in here _– was the first thing to break her reverie slightly.

“Mmmm,” Daphne hummed contentedly, “can you get that? I don’t trust that I can stand right now.”

Pansy smirked, rising to turn to the table.

“Ah!” Pansy exclaimed, “looks like Harry’s free now!”

_I have _no _idea how long it’s even been, _Daphne thought, happily.

“Let him know that we’ll be on our way,” Daphne requested, “I need a minute or two. You blew my mind a bit, Pans.”

“That,” Pansy teased, leaning in to nip at Daphne’s ear once again, “was only the _warm-up_, darling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Two to follow at some point in the near future ;)
> 
> Do you readers prefer longer or shorter chapters, in general? Comments on this chapter specifically also welcome!


	18. Choreography - Part Two (Daphne/Pansy/Harry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daphne and Pansy meet up with Harry, and conversations both angsty and hopeful are had

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst, Smut, and Plot!

Daphne

“I’m in here,” Harry’s voice echoed from his lounge, as Daphne and Pansy walked out of his Floo.

Daphne was well aware of the pleasant ache between her legs as she followed Pansy, the lingering sensation of their activities only proving to be a prelude for what she anticipated to be a _very _pleasant evening.

When they entered the lounge, she was immediately struck by the image of Harry: sprawled across his chair, a glass of firewhiskey in one hand, a lit cigarette in the other, smoke billowing from his nostrils. _A dragon in his lair, _she thought, something about the sheer _presence _that he possessed in that stance sending a thrill down her spine.

“Well, _you _look like you’ve just gone a few rounds with a dragon,” Pansy drawled, the taunt lacking any real venom behind it.

“Heh,” Harry chuckled, his voice lower and coarser than usual, “you could say that.”

“Rough night?” Pansy crossed the room to fill a glass of firewhiskey for herself. When Pansy looked over her shoulder to meet Daphne’s eyes, Daphne nodded to the unspoken question, this _definitely _felt like a firewhiskey kind of night.

“Not particularly,” Harry shrugged, still draped over his _throne_, though the motion looked a bit stiff, “I’m hoping that the raid will clear things up with you and the Auror’s office, we _should_ have retrieved sufficient evidence.”

“Mm,” Daphne mused, slinking into a seat of her own across from Harry, “it’s nice when everything works out.”

From her closer vantage point, she could see what Pansy had meant with her earlier jibe: Harry definitely looked… somewhat _singed_, there was a distinct scent of smoke about him that couldn’t be explained by his cigarette, and his shirt was haphazardly unbuttoned halfway to his navel.

“And the new haircut?” Pansy probed.

“Ah,” Harry answered – Daphne could now tell that his hair was shorter in the back than it had been, unevenly curling along his neck – he shrugged again, unconcerned despite the _distinct _way that he looked uncomfortable doing so, “I was on fire a bit.”

“On fire. A bit.” Pansy didn’t sound very impressed.

“These things happen,” Harry scratched at the back of his head, one of his nervous tics, “I’ve had worse. I put myself out after I finished the capture, at least.”

Pansy turned to meet Daphne’s gaze impassively as the brunette passed her a healthy serving of firewhiskey. Once again, it was as if they could communicate without speaking: _“these things happen!?”_

“Harry,” Daphne spoke carefully, “are you alright?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” Harry’s answer didn’t really inspire confidence, “like I said, I’ve had worse. I was slow, wasn’t smart enough, but at least nobody else got hurt.”

_Ah, the self-sacrifice thing._

“Are you still hurt now?” Pansy asked, with what sounded remarkably like genuine concern in her voice, “other than, apparently, being slightly singed?”

“Mmh,” Harry muttered, “I may have been slightly impaled. It’s nothing serious, but my shoulder’s bothering me a little, I suppose.”

“Harry…” Pansy spoke admonishingly, “you can talk about it if you want.”

“It’s honestly not that important,” Harry’s brows knit in an expression somewhere between “confusion” and “consternation”, “I’m not trying to do the ‘hero thing’, I swear, it was just a raid that went a little more clumsily than it should have.”

Pansy looked to Daphne again, and the pair returned their gaze to Harry, waiting until he continued.

“I was too slow, like I said. Didn’t catch a pair of enchanted statues fast enough, so I got lit on fire a little bit, then I didn’t notice a rebounding jinx and wound up blowing a door up in my own face,” He shrugged, his mouth turning into a slight frown as he did, “nothing happened that wasn’t my own fault, really.”

“Fuck, you’re _impossible_,” Pansy spoke, exasperated, “Harry, you said you caught the suspect, right? You’re allowed to feel proud about doing _the right thing_ and all.”

“Well…” Harry stared deep into his glass, “I’m not so sure about that, really. I, uh, almost cut his hand off.”

“Oh?” Daphne winced, asking him to elaborate despite herself.

“Yeah, er,” Harry took a bracing swig of his whiskey, “I dropped my wand, he was about to incinerate some of the evidence, and, uh… I _may _have reacted a bit impulsively.”

_He took someone’s hand off wandlessly?_ Daphne thought with a shock, _just how powerful _is _he? _

“Well,” Pansy began, a smirk breaking across her features, “you _were_ all about _disarming_ people, from what I recall. Though I suppose this wasn’t your usual _Expelliarmus._”

Harry groaned at the pun, though a smirk of his own finally made his expression a bit more hopeful.

“Yeah…” He trailed off, as if coming to a realization, “I suppose that _wasn’t_ my usual magic. Huh.”

“So, you captured the villain, saved the evidence, and avoided _permanent _mutilation,” Pansy summarized, “sounds like a win to me. What’s got you down about it?”

Harry’s expression darkened, though not in anger.

“It’s just… if I was a bit slower, someone else might have been hurt. Killed, even. I need to be better than that.” He answered.

“Would you,” Daphne wet her lips, uncertain about this conversation, “like to talk about it? I know that this… _thing _we have going on is a bit confusing lately, but I figure that we know each other well enough by now that you can tell us if something’s bothering you.”

Harry sighed, before beginning to unbutton his shirt. Daphne and Pansy exchanged another glance, and Daphne saw the worry on Pansy’s face – maybe it wasn’t _quite _the time to bring up the uncertain status of their three-person “friends with benefits and maybe also feelings?” situation - _but really when was the right time for that?_

Daphne sucked in a breath despite herself as Harry finished divesting himself of his top, noticing an angry red welt in the muscle of his right shoulder, and beyond that, a new tattoo that she hadn’t seen before: a black and red dragon, clearly a magical tattoo in the way that it prowled and snarled around Harry’s midsection.

“Oh, hello,” Pansy was the first to break the silence, “haven’t seen him before,” she pointed to the aforementioned dragon.

“Heh, yeah,” Harry’s chuckle seemed mirthless, “he doesn’t come out a whole lot. He usually only shows his face when I’ve been blowing something up.”

“What’s his name?” Daphne asked.

“_Goran_,” Harry answered, “It means ‘mountain man’, apparently. I figured it would be a fitting way of remembering the dragon I had to kill.”

“Most of your others aren’t magical,” Pansy let her sentence hang unfinished, prompting Harry to continue.

“Yeah. Most of the rest,” He paused, drinking from his firewhiskey again, “I wanted to be more permanent. Memorials.”

“Are you…” Daphne took a swig of her own to calm her nerves, “are you remembering the war, right now?”

“Mmh,” Harry made as if to shrug, before stopping with a wince, “I suppose it’s hard not to.”

Worried, Daphne turned to Pansy, whose own brows were knit together, her lips pursed in thought.

“Do you want me to leave?” Pansy spoke, “is… is me being here a bad reminder for you?”

“Oh, fuck,” Harry’s expression turned to surprise, “no, no Pans, it’s not like that. That’s in the past. Besides,” he gave a weak chuckle, “if I didn’t speak to anyone who ever fought against me, I wouldn’t have some of my best friends.”

“You and Draco _did _bury the hatchet remarkably well,” Pansy seemed to settle herself back into her seat, as if she’d been ready to leap up and walk away, “he used to be _terrified _of you, you know.” 

“Ah, yeah,” Harry paused, his tongue darting between his teeth, “I did, uh, almost kill him once.”

“You what?” Daphne sputtered, cringing at her own lack of understanding. _There’s so much history here I never had the slightest idea about._

“Sixth year, then?” Pansy interrupted, “that was you?”

Harry just nodded in response, a frown crossing his features again.

“Heh,” Pansy chuckled, “I suppose that makes the two of you even, yeah? Doesn’t seem like there’s bad blood that I can tell.”

“He’s a much better man now,” Harry agreed, “especially since Lucius is out of the picture. And just so we’re clear, no, Pansy, I’m not harbouring some secret grudge against you either.”

“So,” Daphne tried to recentre herself, struck by the strange realization that Harry and Pansy had somehow known each other for over a decade, a couple of years, and a couple of months all at the same time, “who’s this one?” She pointed to a tattoo of an owl on Harry’s left shoulder, “if you want to tell us.”

“Her name was Hedwig,” Harry answered, “she was, uh, I suppose she was my first friend, really.”

This prompted another concerned glance shared by Daphne and Pansy.

“You were…?” Daphne ventured.

“Eleven,” Harry continued, draining his glass of firewhiskey, “I didn’t really have the most active social life before Hogwarts.”

When he made to get up and pour himself another glass, Daphne intercepted him, reaching out to grip his forearm.

“Harry, I’m making an executive decision here,” She spoke, as she hoped that this was the right call, “you smell like _fire_, you’re still covered in soot, and it’s really not helping. Let’s go take a shower, yeah?”

“Hmm,” Pansy made a noise of thought, as she drained her own glass, “yeah, I think that’s a good call. Harry, let’s show Daphne your shower.”

The man made a grumbling noise as he nodded, turning to trudge upstairs, leading Daphne and Pansy to his master bathroom. Daphne had never really paid much attention to Harry’s shower before, but she had to admit that she was impressed despite the somber tone of their present circumstances. It was almost _ridiculously _spacious, with a deep recess in the wall big enough to seat a person or two.

She stripped herself quickly – aided by the fact that Pansy had kept Daphne’s panties to herself – as Harry and Pansy similarly divested themselves of clothing. When he was entirely undressed, Daphne could see patterns of bruises along Harry’s torso, something that she’d have to be conscious of.

Daphne did, at least, feel that this was the right decision, as the worries that she’d begun to accumulate seemed to melt away a bit under the stream of hot water. Pansy retrieved a bottle, pouring the contents into her hands, before murmuring something to Harry, clambering so that she sat within the alcove of the shower. Harry sighed, almost in relief, as Pansy began to work shampoo into his hair.

“Sorry for being a bit of a buzzkill,” he muttered, as Daphne spotted a bottle of soap and began to lather it against his chest, “not really the mood I was aiming for.”

“It happens,” Daphne answered, trailing her fingers carefully around Harry’s ribcage, “not that I’ve gone through what you have, but I don’t think any of us had the easiest upbringings.”

“It wasn’t as bad as I’m making it sound,” Harry sighed, “I mean, yeah, my muggle relatives aren’t going to be winning ‘parent of the year’ at any point, but… it’s what it was. I still see my cousin for a pint now and then, but my aunt and uncle, well, I’m happy to write them off.”

“I always assumed you’d grown up rich,” Pansy spoke, as she guided Harry’s head carefully under the water, rinsing the shampoo from his hair, “I suppose that’s my own fucking Pureblood biases at play again.”

“Heh,” Harry let Daphne turn him around, so that she could begin washing his back, “far from it. Not to be all woe-is-Harry or all that, but I literally grew up in a cupboard.”

“Uh,” Daphne couldn’t really put to words exactly what she felt, it wasn’t _pity _but it was a close relative to that emotion, “you grew up in a cupboard?”

“My relatives weren’t really the biggest fans of the idea of magic,” Harry elaborated, “they’d rather pretend it didn’t exist, and I suppose pretending that _I _didn’t exist was easier for them.”

“Fuck them,” Pansy gave voice to the outrage growing in Daphne’s mind, “you didn’t deserve that.”

Harry smirked. “Why, is that Pansy Parkinson being _nice_ to me?”

“_Never_,” Pansy answered, teasingly tweaking one of Harry’s ears, “but, still, you’re almost… shockingly well-adjusted, I have to say. You’re alright, Potter.”

“Better than alright,” Daphne continued, reaching to pull Pansy into the stream of water, “I heard what you did for Pansy, as it turns out.”

“Oh, uh,” Harry actually _blushed_, “it wasn’t a big deal. I just heard Tonks mention off-hand that Pansy was having a hard time finding materials, so I figured I could help.”

“That’s what I’d expect of you noble Gryffindors,” Pansy teased, sighing contentedly as Daphne lathered soap across her chest, “and here I thought it was positively _Slytherin _of you, what with you finding out my _needs _and stepping in to _fill _them.”

“Heh,” Harry actually smiled, his mood evidently improving enough to appreciate innuendo, “y’know, I almost _was _a Slytherin.”

“Really?” Daphne was completely unaware of this, but she supposed it made some sense of how… _easily _the three of them seemed to fit together, at least most of the time.

“Yeah,” Harry answered, as he picked up the bottle of soap, stepping behind Daphne and working it into her back, “the Sorting Hat wanted to put me there, at first. I asked it not to.”

“That’s a true tragedy,” Pansy teased, wiggling against Daphne’s body as the blonde pinched her arse as a warning, “just think, what if the three of us had got together as wild little teenagers?”

“Pfft,” Harry chuckled, nudging Daphne under the water to rinse her off, “I wouldn’t have been able to handle the two of you then.”

“And you think you can now?” Daphne joked, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Well,” She felt Harry smile against her, “I think it’s worth a shot, if you two are feeling up to it after all that sad-sack nonsense.”

“Oh, I didn’t tell you what Daph and I were busy with,” Pansy drawled, as she turned around to face Daphne, a _smoky _expression on her face, “our little Ice Queen was a _big _fan of my skills with a strap-on, as it turns out.”

“Is that so?” Harry asked, a hungry look in his eyes. “Well, I suppose I have something to live up to, don’t I?”

As they exited the shower, hurriedly making a token effort to dry themselves, Daphne felt relief spread through her. The grim mood had certainly lifted, and she almost felt _proud_ in some way at how she’d managed to divert Harry from his reminiscence.

“Speaking of living up to stories we’ve heard,” Pansy continued as she took Harry and Daphne’s hands in each of her own, guiding them towards Harry’s bed, “Daphne told me about some _scandalous _actions in a certain Greengrass study.” She pushed Harry into his bed first, seating him on the edge, then pulling Daphne towards him, seating her on Harry’s lap. “It would appear that it’s _my _turn to demonstrate my _prowess_.”

Pansy knelt before the pair, gently pushing both of their legs apart, as Daphne leaned back to rest her head on Harry’s shoulder. Daphne sighed contentedly as one of Harry’s hands came to rest on her breast, the other on the junction of her leg and hip.

Between their legs, Pansy reached to grasp Harry’s cock with both hands, slowly stroking him, making a show of extending her tongue to lick up the underside of his member. Daphne felt a rumble in Harry’s chest, pressed tight against her back, as he groaned his approval.

As Harry’s manhood swelled to its full hardness in Pansy’s hands, she took his head into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing rapidly as she sucked him. Releasing his cock from her lips with an audible _pop_, she let her tongue drop from her mouth once more, tilting her head up to lick along Daphne’s pussy, _so conveniently _positioned above Harry’s cock.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Harry murmured, sending shivers down Daphne’s spine.

Daphne whole-heartedly agreed with his assessment, trembling as Harry grazed the shell of her ear with his teeth.

All too soon, Pansy returned her mouth to Harry’s cock, though her hands left his member and trailed up the insides of Daphne’s thighs. When Harry gently bit Daphne’s ear at the same time as one of Pansy’s fingers flicked over her clit, Daphne felt her legs twitch, still sensitive from Pansy’s earlier _ministrations_.

Daphne moaned as she watched Pansy practically _swallow _Harry’s cock, her head plunging to take him almost to the base, and she luxuriated in the way that Harry’s grip on her breast tightened, his fingers rolling her nipple roughly between them.

Pansy pressed Harry’s cock against Daphne’s now positively _dripping _pussy, pushing her lips against the junction where their sexes met, loudly suckling and licking at both Harry’s cockhead and Daphne’s clit at once. The spasms in Daphne’s legs amplified, and she tilted her hips forward _desperately, _trying to angle him inside of her.

“Mm,” Harry spoke huskily, “don’t think that angle will quite work.”

Daphne was _far _too impatient to try and prove him wrong, so with a gentle tug at Pansy’s hair, she removed the brunette from her _delicious _position, rolling off Harry’s lap so that she lay back-down on his bed.

“This angle will,” Daphne pleaded, “_fuck me_, Harry, _please.”_

“She’s a bit greedy, isn’t she?” Pansy teased, crawling along the bed towards Daphne, as Harry turned around to line himself up between Daphne’s legs.

_I’ll show you “greedy”, _Daphne thought, as she grabbed Pansy by one of her legs, pulling the other woman’s shaved pussy towards her face. Daphne wasted no time in positively _diving _into her task, distracted only temporarily as she felt Harry push inside of her slowly, before she returned to running her tongue between Pansy’s lower lips.

“I’d say so,” Harry spoke, his voice muffled by Pansy’s thighs around Daphne’s head. Any further _witticisms _were put to a stop as Daphne heard Pansy and Harry begin kissing each other sloppily, a stimulus that sent yet_ another _quake of pleasure through her.

_This is the same position as when we first slept together, _Daphne thought, hazily, as she tried to remain focused on her activities between Pansy’s legs. She lost this battle in short order, as Harry’s slow, _torturous _thrusts broke into a pleasurable explosion, her already-sensitive sex positively _clenching _around him, his cock slipping free wetly.

“I’mmabitsensitive,” Daphne slurred, gasping for breath, “it’s Pansy’s turn.”

Pansy made to remove herself from her _perch_, but Daphne had other plans: clutching the brunette’s arse tightly, she kept the petite witch firmly seated on her face, her hands tilting Pansy’s hips downwards, angling her so that her arse was up in the air, perfectly _presented _for Harry.

Not that Pansy took this laying – _well, sitting – _down: the way that Pansy’s torso was pushed forwards by this action just so happened to leave her own head between Daphne’s legs once more, where she almost _casually _bit at the inside of Daphne’s thigh, before returning her mouth back to Daphne’s pussy.

Daphne groaned in pleasure as she saw Harry step behind the top half of the sixty-nining duo, her perspective a _novel _one (but one she definitely wanted to see again) as she saw Harry’s throbbing cock slide into Pansy’s cunt mere inches from her face.

She tilted her head so that Harry had room to _thrust_, her chin angled up towards Pansy’s hips, watching Harry piston in and out of the petite witch, his balls swinging _enticingly _as he _fucked_. Reaching up to slap one of Pansy’s arsecheeks, Daphne felt her stiffen on top of her, Harry moaning “oh _fuck_” as he undoubtedly felt the tightness of Pansy’s orgasm through his cock. As he pushed forward, plunging into the brunette, Daphne, emboldened, leaned up to run her tongue over his balls, mouthing gently at them, feeling them tighten under her lips as Harry _pulsed, _cumming inside of Pansy.

When he withdrew, she was practically transfixed by the sight of his cum barely trickling from Pansy’s swollen pussy, and as if by instinct, pulled the witch down onto her face once again, Daphne’s tongue plunging inside of her.

“Oh _fuck!” _Pansy cried, “you _are _fucking greedy, holy _fuuuuck.” _

Daphne moaned in turn as Pansy – no doubt feeling _competitive – _began to thrust her fingers in and out of the blonde, as Daphne gripped Pansy’s arse with both hands, absolutely _devouring _her.

_Well, _this _is a new kink, _she realized, as the tastes of Harry’s salty cum and Pansy’s slightly-bitter wetness mixed on her tongue.

It did not take long at all for Daphne to reach yet another orgasm, her scream muffled by the way that Pansy’s sex laid overtop her mouth, as Harry flopped to the bed heavily beside her.

“Fuck, Daph,” Pansy muttered, as she rolled to the side, “_that’s _a new side of you.”

“Mm,” Daphne agreed, “too much?”

“Fuck no,” Pansy reviewed, leaning over to kiss Daphne, their tongues dancing against each other, “I loved it.”

“Seconded,” Harry chuckled, “that was fucking _great_.”

_A much better end to the night, _Daphne reviewed to herself, as the trio arranged themselves around each other, laying sprawled haphazardly. She stroked Pansy’s hair with one hand, her other resting against Harry’s arm (which had come to lay across both of the women in his bed), perfectly content with this _arrangement_.

* * *

“Morning,” Harry’s voice woke Daphne from her sleep, “I’m going to go fix some breakfast.”

“Mm,” Daphne replied, stretching. Pansy lay sprawled on her face beside them, making a distinctly _unhappy _grumbling noise as she awoke in turn, nuzzling her face further into the pillow.

_Definitely a nice way to wake up, _Daphne thought, as the memories of the previous night ran through her mind once again. _Suppose that we should finish that whole… talk, though._

Sighing (but happily), Daphne rose from the bed, wandering down the stairs behind Harry after a couple moments. Locating her purse in his lounge, she fished out a camisole and a loose pair of shorts, sliding them on, as she went to join Harry in his kitchen.

Surprisingly, Pansy had managed to not only rouse herself, but had beaten Daphne to a seat at the table – though the fact that Pansy was only wearing a thong certainly explained her efficiency. There was a slightly-befuddled expression on the brunette’s face, her hair an absolutely uncharacteristic _mess_, sticking up in odd directions.

Daphne crossed the kitchen to the cabinets, quickly finding where Harry kept his tea, when a _boom_ing sound echoed through his house.

Immediately, Harry launched into _action, _his wand in his hand before Daphne could even see him draw it, stepping forwards to place himself between the door and the two women in his kitchen, muttering “wards” tensely under his breath as he went perfectly still.

“Harry James Potter!” A familiar voice cried, “what were you _thinking!?”_

Harry relaxed immediately, sighing.

“Not a great time, Hermione,” He called out, as Daphne put two and two together, “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Absolutely not!” Hermione’s voice replied, growing closer, “I had to hear from Tonks that you practically _blew yourself up _and then slinked off, you can’t just hide away every time this happens!”

“Hermione…” Harry looked back to Daphne, then to Pansy, his eyes wide with fear. Pansy, for her part, merely shrugged, turning her hand over to inspect her nails. Daphne felt a shock of nerves run through her – sure, Hermione had apparently caught Harry and her snogging at Astoria’s dinner, but _this _was a bit more than _that. _

The kitchen door burst open, revealing an irate-looking Hermione Granger, who immediately froze in surprise.

“Granger,” Pansy drawled, “_so good_ to see you.”

“Harry, you… _Parkinson?” _Hermione sputtered, turning a bright red, “Harry, what, what about Daphne?”

“I’m quite in favour,” Daphne found herself replying, some of the old Ice Queen persona slipping loose.

Hermione turned, her face going even _redder _somehow as she noticed Daphne’s presence for the first time, her eyes wide in shock as they flicked from Daphne, to Pansy, back to Daphne, then to Harry again.

“It’s… a thing,” Harry shrugged, “we’ll talk later, yeah? Not a great time.”

“Oh my god I’m so sorry,” Hermione cried, spinning around and practically _fleeing _from the kitchen.

“Cat’s out of the bag, then,” Pansy smirked, as Harry brought two mugs of coffee to the table.

“Er, well,” Harry glanced to Daphne, “Hermione already caught Daphne and me kissing once, I guess.”

“Ooh, _scandalous_,” Pansy was _far _too un-flustered by this development, “well, if it’s any consolation, I’m fairly sure that Blaise has puzzled out that I’m seeing Daph.”

“Oh?” Daphne hadn’t heard of this, “and what has he said about that?”

“We don’t, well, talk about those things,” Pansy shrugged, “these things. Whatever. You know what I mean.”

Daphne sighed, filling her mug of tea.

“I suppose _we _should talk about _these things_, yeah?” She ventured; a bit nervous about where this conversation might lead.

“Yeah.” Harry muttered, sitting at the table. When Daphne had joined the pair, there was an awkward moment of silence, none of the three willing to be the first to broach the topic.

“So… getting a bit beyond the whole _casual _thing, isn’t it?” Daphne finally spoke.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, rubbing at the back of his head, “kinda seems so.”

Pansy, meanwhile, had busied herself with stirring an _obscene _amount of sugar into her coffee.

“I’m not opposed to that,” Daphne continued, “we probably should have laid down some ground rules before now, anyways.”

Harry murmured something that sounded like assent, while Pansy remained quiet.

“Pans,” His voice was somewhat hesitant, “what’re you thinking?”

The brunette slowly, _carefully _raised her mug of coffee to her lips, taking an entirely-too-long sip before putting the mug down with a sigh.

“Look, I’m… I’m having a lot of fun, I _like _this, alright? I’m just… I don’t know how to _do _anything other than casual,” Pansy finally spoke.

“Mm,” Harry mumbled, “yeah. I’m not sure how to do this either.”

“The two of you are, well, you’re great,” Pansy leaned back, tilting her head towards the ceiling of Harry’s kitchen, “I can see that. It’s just, at some point, you know, I’m going to fuck things up and the two of you will get sick of me,” she sighed again, “so I don’t want to pretend like I’m bringing something to this that I’m not. You’re both _nice_, and I know that isn’t me.”

Daphne couldn’t help but snort a laugh.

“I always assumed that you two would get bored of me,” Daphne admitted, “I’m not used to the whole ‘Auror raids’ and ‘a bit on fire’ things like you both are, I’m just, well,” she shrugged, “the Ice Queen.”

This time, it was Harry’s turn to chuckle.

“And here I thought that it was _you _two that were a natural pair,” he spoke, “you both actually _do _things, you’re creative, you’re interesting, I’m a bit of a recluse at _best_.”

The trio sat in silence for a minute, each of the three fidgeting nervously.

“We’re all a bit fucked up, yeah?” Daphne was the first to break the silence once more, “but… that kind of works, doesn’t it?”

“So,” Harry replied, “where’s that leave us? Sticking to the friends with benefits thing? Something else?”

“I’m going to be selfish,” Pansy spoke with a groan, swigging her coffee, “I need some time. I need to think. I don’t want to do _labels _or _serious _right now, but…” she stared at the table as if it were the most interesting thing in the world, “maybe I can. Eventually.”

“Alright.” Harry answered. “I think I can work with that.”

“Yeah,” Daphne agreed, “let’s not rush anything, but maybe let’s not try to _force _things to be strictly casual, alright?”

“Mm. Okay.” Pansy muttered.

_Well, that’s a start, _Daphne thought, smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the feedback about chapter length!
> 
> I think that it's pretty obvious why this chapter wound up split into two parts, but in the future I'll just go for it even if the chapters are getting *substantial* in length :P
> 
> A turning point for the trio! Scandals and secrets revealed! What's next?
> 
> I'd love to hear your comments on this!


	19. Audition (Pansy/?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pansy spends a week in France as a getaway, and a part-Veela makes her appearance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot with a tiny bit of smut

Pansy

A knock rapped against the door of _Serpentine_, where Pansy had been busying herself with finding odds-and-ends to occupy herself with. She sighed, marching towards the entrance, where she found Aurors Tonks and Savage standing outside.

“Hmm,” Pansy appraised the two, where Tonks greeted her with a smirk, Savage looked as entirely deadpan as ever, “afternoon.”

“Wotcher, Parkinson,” Tonks replied, “stopped by to voice my appreciation in person, my coat is absolutely _brilliant_. As it happens, Savage has got something to say, as well!”

Pansy crossed her arms, just _barely _restraining herself from tapping her foot impatiently, as she waited for the Auror of Bureaucracy to explain himself.

“Recent developments in our investigation have…” Savage’s gaze met her eyes, and she was struck at the absence of any kind of resignation _or _frustration in them, “led to the injunction issued against you being withdrawn.” The man reached into his – appropriately – beige overcoat, passing a new letter marked with the seal of the Aurors’ office to her.

“With that said,” Tonks interjected, “I _was _wondering if you had a few minutes to talk about someone who might wind up being someone the Aurors’ Office takes interest in?”

_Ah, _Pansy thought, _my father._

“Sure,” Pansy shrugged, opening the door wider to allow the Aurors entrance to her shop, “I’m not sure how useful I’ll be, though.”

“We’re really just crossing our ‘t’s, dotting our ‘i’s,” Tonks spoke cheerfully, “but if you happened to be aware of anywhere in particular that certain… _materials _might wind up stashed away, it would be particularly helpful for us.”

“Mm,” Pansy muttered, “I haven’t spoken to my parents in years, now, so I’m sure that your _office_ probably knows better than I do at this point.”

_Then again… _

“I suppose,” she continued, “that you might want to check some of the more far-flung Parkinson estates. My parents had a cottage in Wales,” she shrugged, “for example.”

Tonks turned to Savage, shrugging in a way as if she was saying “see?”, then turned back to Pansy.

“Noted!” The Auror cheerfully said, “we appreciate it! Between you and I, you might want to consider laying low a bit longer. Nothing official, of course, but your last name might become somewhat… _contentious_, in the near future.”

_Fucking brilliant._

Pansy made a noncommittal sound, and that business taken care of, the Aurors departed her shop. Pansy sighed as she slumped into a chair, exasperated with the way that things had taken one step forwards, one step backwards. _So, I can reopen Serpentine, _she thought, _great, but maybe I _shouldn’t_ so that I don’t get caught up in the controversy around my father’s stupid fucking crimes. _

Some fifteen minutes later, she was distracted from her own distractions by an owl clawing at the window of her shop, screeching impatiently.

_Don’t recognize _you_, _she mused, opening the window and grumbling back at the temperamental bird. Unravelling the scroll the owl clutched, she immediately recognized Blaise’s immaculate handwriting. Quickly scanning his letter, she was surprised at how fortuitous the contents appeared to be: an invitation to join Blaise and Michel in France for a week, with a portkey (a muggle credit card, _cute, Blaise_) fastidiously taped to the back of the letter.

_Well, Auror Tonks _did _just tell me I should lay low… _she thought.

_Fuck. I should probably talk about it with Daphne and Harry._

Not that she intended to ask their _permission _or anything so absurd with that, but after the (_ugh_) emotionally-charged conversation that the three had shared a few days prior, she felt like they somehow _deserved _to get a heads-up before she disappeared for a week. To make it clear that she wasn’t _running away _or anything like that – she _wasn’t_ – just that it so happened that a vacation made itself available.

* * *

As it turned out, Pansy had nothing to worry about from Daphne or Harry, which didn’t _quite _reassure her the way that she thought it might. Both of them had enthusiastically declared that it was a good idea for her to take some time away from Serpentine’s half-closed state, with Harry even saying that – for some reason – he thought she’d enjoy France. She _almost _wished that they'd kicked up a fuss or demanded that she see them before she left.

Pansy _did_, in fact, enjoy France: she’d traveled some before, especially in the years during her suspension from using magic, but she’d somehow missed out on visiting England’s closest neighbour in her (limited) travels.

The more relaxed environment was proving to be a suitable distraction for her (and the copious amounts of wine didn’t hurt), as she mostly spent her days just going to shops, eating at expensive restaurants (surprisingly, on Michel’s dime), or generally enjoying the company of her flatmate and his boyfriend.

The official status of that couple still surprised her a little bit, as she had never really pictured Blaise settling down, but she definitely found herself growing something like _fond _of the pretty little French wizard. The man was almost cloyingly cheerful, but his sunny disposition masked a razor-sharp wit, and (where Blaise had come to see it as _immature)_ enjoyed gossip nearly as much as Pansy herself did.

On one evening, however, Pansy found herself confronted by the person whose gossip she was perhaps _most _curious about, though she’d never found the nerve to bring it up to Michel. When the blond man had announced that _“ma cousin” _would be joining them for wine at Michel’s apartment, Pansy had not guessed that it would be _Fleur fucking Delacour _walking through the doors.

Which was how Pansy had found herself positively _engrossed _in Fleur, sitting casually sprawled out on the floor in a way that was still somehow _regal_, telling the story of what had led to her divorce from Bill Weasley.

“_Non, _I do not begrudge William for his choices,” Fleur explained, “it is just so… _frustrating_ that he gave in after we had spent years trying to better ourselves.”

Pansy felt like she _should _find Fleur’s accent annoying, the way she flipped between clear English pronunciation and almost-exaggerated “z’s” replacing her “s’s”, but the end result was still _appealing _in a way that Pansy was doing her level best to ignore.

“Is it a Werewolf thing, then?” Blaise asked, an eyebrow quirked, “I thought he’d avoided that particular malediction.”

“_Oui et non,” _Fleur waved a hand airily, “he is not a _werewolf_ as you say, but the wounds, they did affect him. They are calling themselves _wolf-blood_, and they appear to share some… _instincts _with each other.”

“Ah,” Michel mused, “you are not unfamiliar with that, _ma cheirie.”_

Fleur smiled, and there was a flash of _cruelty _in her bared teeth that sent a shiver down Pansy’s spine. _Fucking idiot, _she thought, internally lambasting Bill Weasley.

“Ha,” Fleur’s derisive laugh was _musical_, “no, I am not. That, I think, is what was the last straw. I don’t begrudge William his,” she twirled an elegant finger in the air, “_dalliances, _but he was entirely unwilling to permit me to amuse myself as _I _wished to.”

“So, he _did _cheat on you, then,” Michel’s eyes darkened.

“Eh,” Fleur casually drank from her wineglass, and Pansy watched a blood-red droplet trickle down the side of her full lips, “He came to me afterwards, practically begging me to be furious with him, but I cannot find it in myself to resent him for that. I know what it’s like to live with such _urges_, and in the end, he simply wasn’t as strong as I am. If anything, I pity him, I suppose.”

“I’d say so. After all, I’m _extraordinarily gay_,” Blaise chuckled at his own joke, prompting Michel to chuck him lightly in the shoulder, “and even I can tell that Lavender fucking Brown is a significant step down from _you_.”

“That is… the result of his nature, _mais c'est comme ça. _His ‘instincts’ must have made her irresistible to him,” Fleur shrugged, “he spoke to me of ‘Alphas’, of ‘Omegas’, and other things I didn’t truly care to listen to, but at the end of the day he wishes to form his little ‘pack’, and I do not wish to merely be an afterthought.”

“Ah, yes,” Michel agreed, “it is not that he slept with someone else, it is that he was unfair about it, _oui?_”

“Just so,” Fleur explained, “he said that an ‘Alpha’ could not share his mate, or some nonsense.”

“I am glad we do not share that problem,” Michel teased, nudging Blaise, who just chuckled. _Huh, guess they aren’t as “monogamous” as I had thought… _Pansy realized. Fuck, she might actually have to ask Blaise for _advice_.

“That’s a real thing?” Pansy found herself interjecting, changing topics from her own internal musing, “the whole ‘Alpha’ nonsense?”

“Not like you’re thinking,” Fleur explained, as her positively _sapphire _eyes met Pansy’s, “it is not a _violent_ power struggle, or anything like that, but the dominance, the submission, it is… something _sexuelle_. This Lavender, she is one of his ‘omegas’, from how he explained it, and he gave in to his base desires.”

“Ah, _nothing_ like Veelas,” Blaise snarked, “I can see why you pity him, that’s outright pathetic to say to you.”

“It does not concern me,” Fleur smirked, “but yes, a Veela does not submit to any but the most _magnificent _of suitors. Perhaps I will find one, now.”

Pansy swore that the room was getting hotter, as she felt a bead of sweat drip between her shoulder blades, a flush creeping at the back of her neck. She took a healthy drink of wine, wetting her throat which had begun to feel strangely parched.

“Oh, yes, we _do _need to plan your return to society!” Michel spoke excitedly, “where do you think you’ll settle down?”

“Who knows?” Fleur leaned back, exposing some of her neck, as Pansy was struck by how closely the woman resembled an absolute _masterpiece _of some sculptor, “there are some who have caught my fancy, but I always held back as I was loyal to William, but, well…”

Pansy breathed deeply, as the distance across the floor to Fleur began to feel _smaller _somehow.

“I think I need to get in touch with myself, _oui_? Let William have his little ‘pack’, I’ll start living as a _Veela_ can.”

Pansy was dimly aware that others were speaking as she rolled herself on her knees, fully understanding what Fleur meant: her former husband, the not-quite-werewolf, supposed-Alpha, wouldn’t have been able to _worship _Fleur in the way she clearly deserved. She imagined herself diving between Fleur’s elegant legs, pressing her lips and tongue all over the blonde, imagining what it would feel like to make Fleur _cum_. Her empty wine glass bumped Pansy’s leg as she began to crawl closer to Fleur, a dull heat permeating her entire _being _as she grew closer to her new _goddess_.

“Pans!” Blaise’s voice cut through her fuzzy thoughts, as a feeling like a bucket of cold water being dumped over her shocked her back into reality.

“_Merde!” _Fleur swore, “I am sorry, Pansy, I did not realize my allure would affect you. I rather thought that it would be safe to, well, relax, in this company.”

_Oh._

“Heh,” Pansy smirked, regaining her senses, “yeah, I’m an all-purpose threat to the chastity of innocent women and men alike,” she felt herself blushing, but she refused to accept the embarrassment of being caught in Fleur’s Veela _allure_.

“Still, I am sorry,” Fleur was also blushing, which didn’t do much to help Pansy drive the previous thoughts from her mind, “if it makes you feel better, there are not many who can resist the allure. Some,” she gestured to Blaise and Michel, “are immune because they are… incompatible, but it is rare to find someone who can resist by will alone.”

“Only the ‘_magnificent’, _I take it?” Blaise asked, smirking at Pansy. _Fuck, I’m never living _that _down, _she thought.

“_Oui,_” Fleur sighed, “William, he came close, but even he was not as _résilient _as some. Really, it is only Harry Potter who has ever managed to withstand my allure without effect.”

Pansy chuckled at that, which prompted looks of confusion from the other three.

“Of _course_ the Gryffindor Golden Boy has rare magic powers to pull out of his arse,” she shrugged, floating a weak explanation to the room, “it’s unfair to the rest of us, really.”

Luckily, this attempt at changing the topic appeared to have worked, as she slumped back into her seat and hurriedly drained the rest of her wine glass. Michel took her empty glass as an invitation, cheerily inviting Fleur to accompany him to select the next bottle of wine, a break from the Veela goddess that Pansy was all-too-grateful for.

“Hmm,” Blaise’s deep voice cut through her flustered embarrassment, “you know, normally I wouldn’t talk about these things, but… be careful, Pans.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Pansy replied, trying to remain unruffled.

“Look, I know you’ve been _involved _with Daphne somehow, and I’m not prying or anything… but if the two of you are sharing stories about Potter, you should know that she seems to be rather _friendly _with him, too.”

_Understatement of the year, Blaise. _

“Mm,” Pansy’s lack of concern was genuine, this time, “that so? Doesn’t really bother me.”

“Pansy,” Blaise, on the other hand, had _actual concern _in his expression, “I don’t know if she’s dumping you for him, or what, but I’d really caution you not to try and steal the fucking _Chosen One’s _new girlfriend out from under him.”

“Oh, Blaise,” Pansy couldn’t help but smirk, “you worry too much. It’s _fine_.”

“Your reputation isn’t… the best, Pans, but I don’t want to see you raked through the muck again.”

“Blaise,” she was more insistent this time, “it’s actually fine. Don’t worry.”

“I trust you,” Blaise trailed off, “but this seems like it could be one of your impulsive decisions that backfires.”

“Maybe,” Pansy admitted, “but it’s not going to wind up surprising anyone.”

“No, Pansy, it’s not hopeless like that,” Blaise must have been _drunk _for how _caring _he was being – either that or his time around Michel had actually made him _soft_, “you don’t have to hurtle towards the big blow-ups and dramatic displays, you know.”

“No, I don’t mean it like that,” _Ugh, might as well, since bloody Granger’s in on the secret now, _Pansy thought, “it’s just that, well, the last time Harry and Daphne fucked each other, I’d had his cock down my throat a minute before.”

There was a moment of silence, as Pansy felt a grin overtake her features that was half-bashful, half-braggadocious.

“Ah.” Blaise stared at her for a half moment longer, shaking his head, but smirking in turn. “Well, that’d take care of that, then.”

“Indeed.”

Thankfully, they’d settled back into a more suitable topic of conversation by the time that Fleur and Michel returned, and by the end of the evening Pansy was excitedly discussing the world of fashion with Fleur.

* * *

A couple of days later, the afternoon of the day before Pansy was set to return to London, Fleur had sent her an owl carrying a _very _intriguing proposition: Fleur wanted a new wardrobe, a capsule collection from _Serpentine _that would help announce her return to the single market. This would be an _incredible _opportunity for Pansy’s brand, but as she entered Fleur’s apartment to take her measurements, she couldn’t help but feel the slightest trickle of nervousness winding around in her thoughts.

“Pansy!” Fleur greeted her, wearing a loose blouse and _impossibly _tight jeans, “welcome!” The quick exchange of cheek kisses left Pansy a little flustered, for all that she was fully in control of her _own _impulses, the fact was that Fleur was an _unreasonably _attractive woman even without her magical allure.

“So, yeah,” Pansy explained as she fished in her purse for her measuring tape, “shouldn’t take long to get your measurements, then we can discuss any other…”

She trailed off as she turned around, finding Fleur standing topless and already having divested herself of her jeans, completely and utterly unashamed of her partial nudity.

“Oh, don’t be shy,” Fleur admonished, pouncing on Pansy’s moment of hesitation, “we are not so concerned with nudity in France.”

_I’d fucking say, _Pansy swallowed, crossing behind Fleur to take the measurement across her shoulders.

“You know, you are not what I expected,” the part-Veela continued, “I must say, I am surprised.”

“How’s that?” Pansy ventured cautiously, stepping away before she found herself tempted to run her fingers down Fleur’s spine in a distinctly _non-professional _manner.

“I did not spend much time with the Slytherins, when I was at Hogwarts,” Fleur explained, “but I must admit that your house seemed to collect the… how you say, stuck-up?”

Pansy chuckled, as she moved around to Fleur’s front. _Merlin, that’s fucking unfair. _Fleur’s breasts were quite literally perfect, sitting high and firm and full on her chest, capped with delicate-looking rosy nipples. Fleur raised her arms, allowing Pansy to wrap the measuring tape around her ribcage, prompting another internal thought of “_fucking unreasonable” _as Pansy recorded her hourglass figure.

“You’re not wrong. A lot of us had a lot to learn about the world, then. Some of us seem to have done okay.”

“_Oui,_” Fleur spoke, breathily, as Pansy met her eyes briefly, “I am quite impressed with Blaise, I did not think that anyone would ever manage to convince Michel to settle down. He was, you know, quite the man-eater.”

“Blaise was too,” Pansy admitted, as she caught a glint of something in Fleur’s eyes.

_Oh, you French bitch. This is a _game _you’re playing, _Pansy realized. Fleur’s partial nudity, the mention of Slytherin’s reputation, Michel’s apparent promiscuity – all little ventures and feints meant to put Pansy on the spot and try to _control _her through those reactions.

_Two can play at that game. _

“Ah, and you?” Fleur floated the inquiry gently, trying to fish for details, “you said you were a threat to the _chastity_ of the innocent, yes? Is that your preference?”

“Oh, well,” Pansy stepped behind Fleur once again, cinching the measuring tape over the blonde’s breasts, with a brief thought of “_Morgana, fuck” _as she read the numbers off the strip of fabric, “I don’t like them _too _innocent, really. They’ve got to know what they’re doing, at least.”

_There’s a scenario here that leads to me shagging Fleur fucking Delacour, _Pansy realized, _but just as likely there’s a way that leaves me looking pathetic for trying to make the move on her. Wait, _can _I even make a move on her? Am I committed to Harry and Daphne? Fuck._

“Mm,” Fleur made a noise of agreement, “I think that I have a thing for the heroic type, the more I think of it. But not _too _heroic, _tu sais_?”

_Yeah, I _do _know. _

“Sometimes they surprise you,” Pansy vaguely commented, “you never know what the good boys are capable of.” She glanced down Fleur’s back where she noted – somewhat vindictively – that while Fleur’s arse was _very nice_, Daphne’s was actually more to Pansy’s preference.

“And the good girls?”

“Oh, they’re even more dangerous,” Pansy wrapped the measuring tape around Fleur’s neck with just the _slightest _amount of additional force, just enough to let the French witch know that _Pansy Parkinson _was not so easily manipulated, “what, are you thinking of expanding your horizons?”

“Hmm, I just might.” Fleur turned to face Pansy, and there was a moment of tension that dragged on for _forever_. Pansy’s thoughts went wild. She considered leaning in to kiss the Veela, decided against it, thought about throwing Fleur against the wall and pushing her fingers between Fleur’s legs, realized that Fleur was taller and stronger than her and would undoubtedly push _her _into the wall if things went that way, and finally landed on the decision that – while it would undoubtedly be the shag of a _lifetime_ – she wasn’t going to endanger the fucking _relationship _she was building with Daphne and Harry.

_Fuck, Parkinson, _you’ve _gone soft, _she realized.

The moment of tension ended, and Fleur smirked, walking back to retrieve her clothing.

“You have what you need, then?” The blonde asked.

“I imagine so,” Pansy drawled, “I’ll let you know if I require something more.”

“Oh, we’ll be in touch,” Fleur agreed, “though I imagine you realized that. After all, I am not the only one with a taste for _heroes_, I think.”

_Fuck, I need a smoke._

* * *

Back in her hotel room, Pansy wasted absolutely no time in addressing the distraction that had been building up between her legs during the entire visit to Fleur’s apartment. Her personal version of fantasizing tended to lean strongly towards _imagery_, brief scenes and vignettes of sexual acts that she could engage in rather than carefully-constructed _narratives._

_Fleur, pushed into the wall, Pansy’s teeth on her throat, her fingers delving inside the witch as she muttered pleased noises in French._

Pansy unbuttoned her jeans, laying back on her bed and thrusting her hand down her pants.

_Harry looming over her, his coarse hand wrapped around Pansy’s throat as he fucked her, her nails digging into his back. _

She increased her pace, pushing two of her fingers inside herself, grazing her own clit with the end of her thumb.

_Daphne kneeling in front of her, making whining noises of desire as Pansy thrust her sex against the blonde’s mouth. _

A moan escaped her lips as she fucked herself desperately.

_The scene at Fleur’s apartment, except this time the Veela was the dominant one, pushing Pansy into her bed and showing her _fangs_ as she leaned between her legs… _except the image of Fleur shifted, her _ivory _blonde hair softening to a golden tone, her features changing to Daphne’s more familiar ones. _Harry, beside both of us, stroking my breasts. _

“Fuck,” Pansy came with a shudder, the fantasy – actually a _reality – _having pushed her over the brink.

_Fucking Morgana, Merlin, and Nimue. _Pansy panted for breath as she thought about these events, real and imagined alike. _Fuck it. If I’m giving up a chance at shagging a _Veela _for them, I guess I’m going to have to give it a shot. Dating. A relationship._

_The real deal. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments on last chapter! I'm glad to see how everyone is receiving this work, it helps me dial in a little tighter on some aspects!
> 
> Things are beginning to come to somewhat of a conclusion - still more to come, and there's new directions that might pop up in the future... I wonder what (or who) they could be ;)


	20. Conversation Piece

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry explains his relationship (is it?) to Hermione, then attends a party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty much just a slice of life chapter!

Harry

Harry sighed, steeling himself, as he prepared to walk into Madam Puddifoot’s. It had been _months_ – if not a year, at least – since he’d been to Hogsmeade, but Hermione had seen fit to summon him here since “_we have a lot to discuss, Harry”._

It didn’t take long to find his friend inside, ensconced in a booth at the corner of the shop, two mugs already set in front of her.

“I got you a latte,” Hermione said in way of greeting him, “couldn’t remember how you take your coffee, but that seemed a safe enough choice.”

“Cheers,” Harry answered, sliding into the booth opposite her.

“So,” Hermione began, pulling out a thick, ringed notebook from beside her, “there’s actually quite a few things I wanted to cover today. Would you mind giving us some privacy?”

Harry muttered “_muffliato” _under his breath, not bothering to draw his wand for the charm.

“Ta,” Hermione answered, flipping her notebook open, “so, first off: Lord Greengrass is up to something.”

_Hmm, not what I expected. _

“Yeah? What kind of ‘something’ are we talking, the kind that the Aurors should know about?”

“Sadly, no,” Hermione turned her notebook to a specific page, passing it across the table to Harry. He smiled as he saw painstakingly recorded minutes of Wizengamot sessions in Hermione’s writing, the smile fading as he realized that she expected him to _read _them.

“Hmm,” Harry grumbled, sipping his latte – he usually took his coffee black, but he wasn’t going to complain – furrowing his brow as he tried to pull apart the positively byzantine layers of political double-speak and various motions, points of order, and the like.

“You’re going to have to help me out here,” Harry freely admitted, prompting a familiar snort from Hermione, “I’m not seeing what he’s up to.”

“The oft-vaunted House Greengrass ‘neutrality’,” Hermione explained, “is really just ‘Traditional Pureblood views’, except marginally less racist than the traditionalist faction. Which is why it’s very _interesting _to me that Lord Greengrass is making missives towards _marriage reform_, here,” she pointed at one line of her minutes, “here, and here.”

“And we’re assuming that he hasn’t had a change of heart, yeah?” Harry drawled sarcastically.

“I don’t think I have to dignify that with a response, Harry,” Hermione frowned in thought (and if _she _was confused or unsure, then Harry knew he had no hope at puzzling it out), “there’s some way that he stands to benefit from this, but given our recent… _disagreements_ with him, I’m worried that it’s meant to target you in some fashion.”

“How would marriage reform target me?” Harry was only growing more confused.

“Harry.” Hermione looked at him with an expression that said “you thick-headed man” so that she didn’t have to actually speak it out loud. “Once again, it amazes me that you can apparently forget that you’re the head of _two _Noble Houses. What if he slips in a provision stripping you of those, ugh, _rights _that you apparently have?”

“Well, uh,” Harry shrugged, “I never exactly _planned _to have two wives, anyways, so I don’t think I’d be exactly missing it?”

“Harry, don’t be a git,” _Ah, expressions alone aren’t sufficient enough, _“I’m not talking about the _polygamy _side of things, I’m talking about your _freedom _as a Lord. Instead of being able to run around with whoever you want and figure out your marriage later, what if he ties Lordship to producing heirs? Or obligates you to marry someone of equal status?”

“Oh, I, uh,” _fucking Purebloods, _“I hadn’t thought of that. Can he do that? I thought that compulsory marriages were all sorts of illegal now.”

“Oh, Harry. Thank _Merlin _that you let me help you with this,” Hermione sighed, “it wouldn’t be a _compulsory marriage_, if he’s going this route, the act would no doubt be written in a way that you’d be ‘free to choose’ whether you wanted to give up your political power, or remain unmarried. Entirely legal, entirely unethical.”

“Well, that’s shite.”

“Rather, yes.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, sighing. Maybe he _should _have thought ahead before threatening Cyrus, but – now that he was trying to be more honest with himself about his feelings for Daphne – once the Lord Greengrass had disparaged his own daughter like that, Harry would have done the exact same thing if he had a second chance.

“What if I just kill him in a duel, yeah?” Harry joked.

“You know I don’t condone violence as the only solution,” Hermione, thankfully, cracked a smile in response, “but honestly… no, don’t _kill _the man, but if he gives you cause to duel him, _absolutely _take him down a bloody peg.”

“That bad, hey?” If Hermione was recommending _dueling_ as a solution, old Cyrus must have been _particularly _insufferable of late.

“Well,” Hermione frowned, “I assumed you’d know, given, well, _Daphne_.”

_Ah, right._

“She’s mentioned a bit of it, yeah.”

“Which, I guess, is where I’m going to segue into the _other _thing I wanted to talk to you about,” Hermione fidgeted a bit, “look, I want you to be happy, so you know I support you no matter what… but _Pansy Parkinson?” _

“Heh,” Harry, in turn, scratched the back of his head, “yeah, I know. It surprised me a bit too, I guess.”

“Well, it’s not _that _surprising,” Hermione grumbled, “she _has _been practically flashing her breasts at you at every gala for the past couple of years.”

“Y’know, you’re not even the first person who’s pointed that out,” Harry remembered Robards’s previous observations, “I honestly didn’t have an idea before, well, it kind of just happened.”

“Hmph,” Hermione frowned, “keeping secrets isn’t your style, Harry. I’m surprised, is all. I didn’t think you’d act so quickly after Luna mentioned that whole ‘two wives’ thing to you.”

“Well, er,” Harry paused, trying to figure out what he even wanted to say, “it’s not really a _secret _per se, it’s kind of… not a relationship? Yet?”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Harry actually felt _nervous _in front of Hermione’s gaze, “it’s, well, a _thing_. We haven’t really figured it out yet.”

“Hmm,” Hermione tapped her fingers against the table, “and Daphne? What’s going on there?”

“Well, it’s all the same _thing_. We’re all, uh, _involved_, but it’s… well, ‘undefined’ is probably too specific a term, really.”

“That’s _fascinating_,” the choice of phrase would have been sarcastic from anyone _but _Hermione Granger, “who started it? Did they approach you? Or is Daphne the intermediary since you and Pansy were so _complicated _with each other? Does this have anything to do with the investigation you were working?”

“_Merlin, _Hermione,” Harry protested, “I didn’t take you for one to be so curious about my social life.”

“Honestly, Harry,” she leaned back, crossing her arms, an _expectant _expression on her face, “I know that you’ve had some _difficulties_ in dating, but yes, I’m absolutely _curious _as to how it is that you wound up dating not only someone who tried to have you _killed_, but the famed ‘Ice Queen’ at the same time.”

“Like I said, it just kind of happened,” Harry recalled the night of Draco and Ginny’s wedding, smiling at the memory, “it wasn’t planned out by _any _of us, but, well, it’s _working_. That’s the surprising part to me, as well.”

“So,” Hermione clearly wasn’t content with his explanation, but she seemed to be giving him a bit of respite from the near-interrogation, “what’s the end goal, then?”

“Fuck, I have no idea,” Harry sighed, “the three of us talked about it a bit, but, well, none of us know. All three of us are pretty screwed up, really.”

Harry hushed Hermione’s indignant protests of how he _wasn’t _“screwed up” before they could begin.

“It’s not what I would have expected either, but… I think that we might be moving towards a relationship. Of some sort.” He frowned, wishing that _he _actually knew what was going on. _It would be a lot easier to explain, that’s for sure. _“What exact kind of definition or status that involves, I’ve no bloody idea, ‘mione.”

“Tsk,” Hermione frowned, before chuckling and leaning forwards almost _conspiratorially _to Harry, “I do understand that much, Harry. I’m not as sheltered as you think, I actually _get _the whole ‘uncertain friends with benefits’ situation.”

“Hmm,” Harry answered, “things not going well with Viktor, then?”

“Harry!” Hermione blushed, “how did you…? Oh, bloody hell, of course you figured it out. No, things are going _great_,” the smile that broke across her face was an answer enough for Harry.

“I’m happy to hear,” Harry answered, “and happier still that you’re not going to get mad at me for breaking ‘the rules of dating’, or something.”

“Oh, hush,” Hermione chuckled along with his teasing, “you know how to handle yourself, Harry. If dating Parkinson _and _Daphne is what works for you, I’m not going to tell you to stop. Besides, if I _did _try and tell you to reconsider, you’d only throw yourself into the deep end even further.”

“That’s true,” Harry smiled. It was easier than he’d thought to tell Hermione about this.

“Just, be careful, okay?” Hermione’s tone became serious again, “I’m not saying anything about _anything_, but if something goes wrong in the Wizengamot, they need to know what they’re signing up for. _You _need to consider whether you can count on them if you have to. I’m not going to try and manage your dating life, but I _am _going to keep your best interests in mind.”

_Yeah. _Harry thought. _I figure that I _can _count on them. _

“Hmm,” Harry was struck by an idle thought, “who would _you _pick, if you _were _going to manage my love life?”

“Harry!” Hermione protested his teasing, “it’s hardly appropriate for me to sit here and discuss the various possibilities I’ve thought of about people we know!”

“Hah,” Harry smirked, relaxing, “so you _do _like to gossip, after all! I’m dying to know, now.”

“Well, there’s a few ways of looking at it, really,” Hermione fussed in her purse, pulling out a notebook – _of course she has notes on this_, “ever since Luna mentioned it, I’ve thought of a few different ideas, whether they be for political benefit, who I think you’d like, or who _I _would like to see you date.” Hermione shrugged defiantly. “It’s not _gossiping, _it’s merely _preparation _in case you actually asked for my advice.”

“Brilliant,” Harry smirked, “so?”

“Well, politically, that would require you to actually buy in to some of the Pureblood nonsense for the most gain… Sue’s the best choice, especially if you ceded House Black to her.”

“Isn’t Sue, well, gay?” Harry asked, genuinely curious. He’d never asked Sue directly about her preferred partners, he supposed, but it seemed to be common-enough knowledge that she was a lesbian.

“This scenario is purely political, yeah?” Hermione reminded him, “then again, I’m not actually sure about that. She’s made comments about you before that didn’t seem entirely _uninterested_.”

Harry briefly considered that idea, before tamping it down with a _no, inappropriate, Harry _thought.

“Anyways, if you were just chasing political power, you’d probably want to take a second wife from across the aisle, as it were. Flora Carrow isn’t the worst, really.”

Harry vaguely recalled the former Slytherin woman: she didn’t particularly stand out in his memory in any way, but Pansy had mentioned her name a couple times, and apparently her and her twin sister had been instrumental in reducing the harm that their Death Eater aunt and uncle had done to the students of Hogwarts. Still, even _hypothetically_, this woman he didn't know didn't pique his interest in the slightest, although something about her _name _sounded nice... 

“I _am _kind-of-sort-of dating two Slytherins, you know,” he joked.

“Yes, but not ones in good standing with the traditionalists… hmm, in fact, they’d actually be two of the better choices for absolutely _infuriating _that particular bloc,” Hermione tapped a finger in thought against the side of her face, “I’d never tell you to marry for _power_, anyways, but if you decided you wanted to force the Ministry to change, I had to plan for it, just in case.”

“Fair,” Harry admitted, smirking. Hermione’s fastidious nature and depth of understanding never failed to entertain him, as long as it was a topic he could actually understand. “What about the other categories?”

“Well, you’re the judge of who _you’d _be happy with, obviously,” Hermione pursed her lips, flipping around in her notebook – _does she have notes on my social life? Classic Hermione. _“It wasn’t one of the times you were doing the best overall, really, but you seemed to have a good time when you were seeing Katie, and George has certainly alluded to that often enough.” _Ah, yeah, Katie_ is _great, _Harry agreed – there’d never really been any potential _romantic _component to their brief time together, but he still recalled the memories fondly.

“Then I’d probably say Luna for your other… _partner_, in that scenario,” Hermione nodded, as if to answer one an unspoken question of her own, “even if I don’t really _understand _Luna, she’s a fantastic woman, and she’s always had a way of getting you out of your sulks.”

“I prefer to think of it as _‘brooding’,” _Harry joked, thinking about how Luna _had _seemed to become somewhat flirtatious as of late – but he wouldn’t dare to think that he could really judge her behaviour accurately. Still… _that _possibility was something he’d have to address, given that he we was due to attend Luna’s going away party in a couple of days, and he hardly thought it was appropriate for him to be out flirting with other women while Pansy, Daphne, and himself were figuring things out.

“Well, whatever you think of it as, it’s _annoying_,” Hermione fired back, grumbling when Harry stuck his tongue out at her in a childish display of rebellion. “You might be surprised, but if _I _were picking your partners for you, well, I think Daphne would probably be who I’d recommend.”

“You’re just as bad as Ron and Astoria,” Harry teased, while also feeling a surge of… _validation? _

“Does Ron know?” Hermione changed the topic, “about your ‘kind-of-relationship’?”

“Ah,” Harry grimaced, “no. It’s not a _secret_, but it’s not exactly something we’ve wanted to broadcast, yeah?”

“Well, he’ll undoubtedly be thrilled that Daphne is involved with you,” Hermione smirked, “and _crushed _that Parkinson is.”

“You’d think he’d be past the whole ‘Slytherin snakes!’ thing, what with marrying one and all,” Harry shrugged, “or having one as his brother-in-law.”

“Not everyone forgives as easily as you do, Harry,” Hermione shrugged in response, “you know how stubborn Ron can be.”

“Right, yeah. Who’s your other choice?”

“Pardon?”

“If you were arranging marriages for me,” Harry teased, Hermione rolling her eyes in exasperation.

“Honestly, if she ever moved back here, Padma.”

_Huh. Not the first time Hermione’s tried to arrange that. Then again, she never knew how successful her first attempt was, _Harry recalled.

“Oh?”

“She’s a good friend of mine,” Hermione explained, “she’s smart, she’s very kind, but she’s not a pushover either. Given the shape that you tend to find yourself in,” Hermione pointedly glanced at Harry’s shoulder, “it might be good for you to have a healer in your life on an _intimate _basis.”

“Hermione Granger!” Harry gasped in mock horror, “was that a _dirty joke?_”

_Padma definitely _did _help me,_ Harry thought even as he teased his friend, _but that was another “explicitly temporary because someone’s moving away” scenario. And I still shouldn’t be thinking like that, _he chastised himself internally.

“Well, and what about you?” Hermione asked. Seeing Harry’s confusion, she continued, “what is it about Daphne and… _Parkinson_ that you like?”

_A lot, really._

“Uh, well,” Harry tried to filter out various explicit comments that he could have made – he didn’t want to give Hermione a heart attack, after all, “like I’m sure you’ve seen, Daphne’s really, really smart, she’s actually helped me out with some of the Pureblood bullshite that you mentioned. She’s more down to earth than I would’ve expected, though, she’s good at staying calm when I’m _not_.”

“I agree,” Hermione grimaced, “what about Parkinson? I’m presuming she has _some _redeeming features, and don’t you _dare _say that it’s her breasts, Harry.”

_There goes that joke._

“Well, as it turns out, _Pansy_ does,” Harry smirked, thinking of Pansy’s own sense of humour, “she’s clever too, and she’s driven, the shop she’s running is actually quite impressive from what I’ve heard. I’m not going to say that Pansy is exactly the _nicest _person I’ve ever met, but I think she does regret the way she acted during school. Honestly, though, I kind of like that she challenges me.”

_She has absolutely _terrible _puns, _Harry thought, _just like I do._

“Heh,” Hermione shook her head, “now _that _sounds like you. I’m not exactly going to be her best friend or anything, but when you bring her around some time, I’ll do my best to be civil, you know.”

“Thanks, ‘mione,” Harry smiled, feeling an odd sense of relief as his coffee with Hermione wound to an end.

* * *

Days later, at Luna’s going away party, Harry’s sense of vague, fuzzy happiness hadn’t faded away at all: even though Pansy was out of the country and Daphne was all wrapped up with an art project she’d been commissioned for, he still spoke to the two fairly regularly through their enchanted notebooks, and he felt a growing sense of _optimism _about the whole thing for the first time in, well, a long time.

Luna’s party was very… _Luna_, the private room she’d rented out at the Leaky Cauldron festooned with a positive smorgasbord of decorations, including tinsel (_Christmas isn’t for a few months yet, Lu_), enchanted party streamers, and a _disco ball_. The gathering had been small, but included most of Harry’s closest friends, with the only notable exceptions being the women-of-uncertain-definition in his life.

“It’sh about _LEGACY_,” Draco slurred, half-perched on the edge of a bench, practically face-to-face with an equally drunk Ron.

“PISS OFF!” Ron yelled in response, “You’re, you’re all a bunch of half-brained gits, you don’t know what it _TAKESH!”_

“What’s this one about?” Harry leaned over to Astoria.

“I _think_,” Astoria shook her head in exasperation as Ron and Draco had now begun to _chant _at each other, “_this_ one is about the Cannons versus the Falcons last season.”

“Aren’t they both bottom of the league, yeah?”

“They are,” Astoria sighed, sipping her glass of water, “but you know how those two get.”

Sure enough, within moments the two men had their arms slung around each others’ shoulders, now chanting a _third _Quidditch anthem which seemed to be targeted at Puddlemere United, instead. Harry grinned, once more struck with how utterly _absurd _this sight would have been only a few short years ago.

It was times like this that Harry actually felt like they’d _won _the Second Wizarding War, when former enemies were _singing Quidditch anthems _together, the absurdities of the former house rivalries of Hogwarts finally put aside.

In typical Harry fashion, he couldn’t help but distract himself with a thought of a somewhat darker nature: _“Legacy”, hey? _He distracted himself with his glass of firewhiskey, a temporary respite from an idle concern that had been bothering him ever since Pansy had pointed it out.

Though he’d done his level best to ignore it ever since he’d first learned of the situation, the fact was that his nearly-instinctive use of _Sectumsempra _was an indication that the… _legacy_ that Snape had left Harry with was apparently not anywhere near as inactive as Harry had hoped.

_That’s something to worry myself with some time far in the future, _Harry decided, finishing his drink.

By the time the party was drawing to a close, Harry had found himself drunker than he’d expected, but not so much that he was incoherent. _Hell, _he thought, _even _Hermione _was drunk by the time she left. _He chuckled to himself, he supposed that it was due to his higher-than-usual tolerance that he was one of the last people remaining.

The other, of course, being Luna herself.

Harry didn’t realize this until Seamus and Parvati made their departure while he was already engaged in a conversation with Luna, and as soon as this happened, he felt a treasonous blush rising in his ears, recalling Luna’s somewhat _friendly _behaviour of late.

“Ah, it’s late, I should get going,” Harry clambered to his feet, as Luna rose to meet him.

“Oh, yes,” Luna agreed, “it is rather late, and I do have a portkey to take tomorrow morning. Still, this has been a lovely night, thank you for being here, Harry.”

She leaned in towards him, and his mind raced, but Luna stopped _well _short of pressing her face into his, instead peering interestedly at some point above his head.

“They’re almost gone, you know,” Luna observed.

“They?” Harry quirked an eyebrow in curiosity.

“Oh, your wrackspurts, that is,” Luna shrugged, her gaze meeting Harry’s. _Fuck, she does have beautiful eyes, _Harry realized nervously, as Luna’s hands came to rest gently on his chest. “I am quite happy to see it, Harry! You had me worried for the longest time, but it seems like you have found someone to help you out with them.”

“Uh, yeah, I…” Harry trailed off, not sure how to explain that he _couldn’t _kiss Luna, despite her clearly standing close to him, waiting for _something_.

“That’s nice.” She smiled widely, and then leaned in to kiss him – on the cheek.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, “it is.”

He returned Luna’s nearly-crushing hug, before separating from her and retrieving his coat from the side of the door.

“Have a good trip, Lu,” Harry turned to bid goodbye to his friend, who was about to take one of her “field studies” of entirely indefinite duration, this time pursuing some sort of Wuggy Mumble-something in Sweden.

“Oh, I will!” Luna cheerfully announced, “And Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I’d like to talk to your girlfriend,” She continued, as Harry started to sputter in surprise, looking at him with her head cocked to the side in curiosity, “oh, sorry, is it girlfriends? Anyways, now that you don’t have wrackspurts any more, I think I’d quite like to have sex with you when I next return.”

_What?_

“Goodnight, Harry!” Luna was just as cheerful and blasé as ever as she _skipped_ past him to her room upstairs at the Leaky Cauldron, leaving Harry in a drunk, confused – no, _bewildered –_ and, to be honest with himself, _intrigued _state.

_Oh, brilliant, _he thought, _things _were _going way __too easy, weren’t they? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wait who laid all this groundwork all over this slice of life??
> 
> :^)
> 
> I'd love to know what you all think!


	21. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daphne receives an art commission, Pansy returns to England, and the trio have a long-overdue conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All plot :)

Daphne

Daphne inspected the letter, printed neatly on actual card stock, and marked with the seal of House Bones. She was half-treating this as a joke of some kind, because she was unsure of exactly what it could mean otherwise:

_Hi Daphne,_

_I know that we don’t know each other very well, but I’m hoping to change that._

_I’m very interested in commissioning you for a particular sort of art piece, one which I’d like to have displayed by December. _

_If this sounds like something that you’d be interested in, please let me know a time that would work for you to discuss what I have in mind! _

_Regards,_

_Lady Susan Bones_

The tone of the letter was half-formal, half-casual, and it was throwing Daphne off-balance in terms of her expectations. It was _well _understood that she didn’t want to get involved in politics, which surely even Susan knew, but at the same time the signature spoke of something more official than “acquaintances talking about art”.

_Curious_.

She thought about sending a message to Harry to ask if he had any ideas as to what this was about, but then decided against it: surely she didn’t need to carefully measure _every _social scenario she found herself in, and – to be honest with herself – she felt more confident in being able to socialize without coming off as the “Ice Queen” ever since she’d taken up with Pansy and Harry. 

Daphne figured that it wouldn’t cost her anything to at least find out what Susan Bones was interested in, so she began to write her reply, suggesting a couple of evenings later in the week as potential times for the two witches to meet.

* * *

The Bones Estate wasn’t objectively the most impressive house that Daphne had ever seen, certainly Malfoy Manor loomed over it (to say nothing of the massive 12 Grimmauld Place where Harry lived), but there was a sense of _ominousness _about it, the construction all wrought iron and black granite. The Bones house had definitely thrown in with the side of the Light during recent Wizarding wars (and suffered grievously for it), but if Daphne had to guess, this had probably not always been the case.

Lady Bones herself was also somewhat of a contradiction: Daphne knew _of _her well enough, a frequent guest at many of the same events that Daphne had attended, but she’d never really made the effort to get to know the young noble beyond a surface level. Her cheerful and upbeat demeanour was surprising in light of the aforementioned hardships she’d suffered, but also nearly incongruous in light of her reputation.

While Daphne didn’t know the truth of it, Susan Bones had begun to cultivate something like notoriety as a fierce, tough, and _intimidating _Lady of her House: in the years following her assumption of this status, she’d dueled no less than four other Lords in challenges arising from her actions at the Wizengamot, handily winning each and every match.

_I wonder when Harry will get to duel some old Pureblood fool, _she thought, _maybe it’ll be my father. _

“Daphne,” The Lady Bones welcomed, “hello! How are you?”

“I’m good, thanks,” Daphne replied, only somewhat confused, “you?”

“Well, I’d say never better, but that’s not entirely true,” Susan answered, ambiguously, “come, let’s have a seat in the lounge!”

Daphne’s curiosity was definitely piqued. She was hoping that this meeting would lead to an opportunity for her art, of course, but the more she pondered on different aspects of their respective social stations, the more she wondered if Susan might actually become a _friend _of hers – something that Daphne had already figured out she was in short supply of.

Much like herself, Susan seemed to reside in the strange middle ground between Pureblood traditions and the modern Wizarding world, though Susan seemed to deal with that a bit more deftly than Daphne had managed to. Other than Harry, Susan was one of the few people their age who chose to wear glasses (when magical remedies were commonplace), and similarly to Daphne, Susan had wound up the centre of a minor controversy when it came to light that she _enjoyed _the company of other witches.

Of course, where Daphne had thoroughly destroyed her own reputation and wound up disinherited for her trouble (not that she regretted her choices – but she could admit she handled the challenges somewhat _dramatically_), Susan had basically stared down the traditions of their culture and made the _traditions _flinch and look away.

_Kind of impressive, really, _Daphne thought.

“Fancy a drink?” Susan asked, as Daphne found a seat in her lounge, “tea? Coffee? Wine, or firewhisky?”

“A tea is good for now, thanks,” Daphne answered, and Susan _hmm_ed and disappeared somewhere to retrieve this. When she returned, the redhead had a _potent _glass of firewhisky for herself, and a mug of earl grey for Daphne.

“Right!” Susan seemed to be excited, “might as well get to it, eh? My first question for you, before anything else, is whether you’d like to stick it to your dad?”

_Huh._

“Well,” Daphne sipped her tea, cautious – sure, she’d _love _to bring her father down a notch or two, but this was potentially-dangerous talk given Susan’s predilection for shows of _force, _“in theory, _absolutely_. It depends on what you mean.”

“You know the Winter Solstice Gala, yeah?” Susan continued, as Daphne nodded in response, “well, it turns out that it’s my turn to host it this year, right here at the Bones estate. I figure it’s a prime opportunity to show off what the _modern _magical world is like.”

“Hmm,” Daphne was definitely intrigued, “I’m interested, but what did you have in mind?”

Susan’s grin stopped just short of “predatory”, as she leaned back in her chair across from Daphne.

“You saw the main foyer when you came in, it’s a little, well, _naked _right now. What I’m thinking is that, if you’re interested, I’d like to commission you to make something very _modern _to display in that space.”

_So that the first thing her guests from various Noble Houses would see would be my art, _Daphne pondered, _but how would that “stick it” to my father?_

“What did you have in mind?” Daphne asked.

Susan quirked an eyebrow and looked over the bridge of her glasses at Daphne, a smirk appearing on her face.

“Well, basically, what I had in mind was a sculpture that’s basically as gay as bloody well possible without being pornographic,” Susan calmly sipped her drink, “remind them that I’m not going to be backed down, yeah? And with your name attached to it…”

Daphne felt a smirk of her own form on her lips: displaying a piece of transgressive art focused on lesbian themes would cause waves in the _Muggle _world, let alone the stodgy and prejudiced world of noble purebloods. Making it clear that _she _was responsible would directly “insult” her father by association, a ruthless strategy to take advantage of her skills and family name alike.

“Why, that’s positively _Slytherin_ of you,” Daphne joked.

“Heh,” Susan shrugged, “know your enemy and all that, yeah?”

Now that she was spending more time with the witch, Daphne could almost pick out some ways in which she resembled Harry, both of them utterly fearless in standing up for what they saw as right (though Harry could use more than a small dose of Susan’s confidence).

“Well I’m certainly _interested_,” Daphne decided, “but I’m curious, what made you think of me to join your plan?”

“As I said,” Susan drained her drink, “I don’t know you as well as I’d like, so I’ll admit that was one motivation for me, but actually, it was Harry who had mentioned how you and your father were still at odds with each other. I’d caught him after Ron and Astoria’s announcement, and he seemed _quite _perturbed about that whole thing.”

_That’s an understatement, _Daphne thought.

“So, I figured, two birds one stone, right?” Susan grinned cheerfully, “fancy that drink yet?”

“A glass of wine would be lovely,” Daphne decided, “white, if you have it.”

Returning after a minute with a drink for each of them, Susan flopped back into her seat across from Daphne.

“To be honest,” Susan spoke, “another reason why I reached out to you is that women like us need to stick together, yeah?”

_Women like us, _Daphne pondered. The only notable connection she could think of was the public awareness that each of them were women who slept with women, but this led to a realization that she felt she had to correct.

“Oh, uh,” Daphne took a sip of her wine – a crisp, dry variety – before continuing, “I’m not actually a _lesbian_, y’know? I sleep with men too, that is.”

“Heh,” Susan smirked, a bit of rosiness beginning to appear on her cheeks after her first glass of firewhisky, “not my first choice, but I don’t blame you for that or anything. Even for me there’s been a bloke or two that I’d be willing to give a shot.”

Daphne – despite herself – felt her Slytherin instincts whirl into action: _is this a means of trying to get closer to Harry through me somehow? Wait, no, that doesn’t make sense, him and Susan are already good friends. Is she hitting on me? No, that’s ridiculous. _

“What about your guest of honour, then?” Daphne probed, “if you wanted to commit to the ‘shock the crusty old purebloods into the twentieth century from somewhere in the depths of the eighteenth’ thing, are you bringing a woman as your date? You and Luna Lovegood _did _seem to be getting on rather well…”

Susan barked a laugh that was _nothing _resembling “ladylike” or “proper”, which Daphne deeply appreciated.

“Hah, no, Luna’s just a friend of mine, for now at least,” Susan shrugged, “the fact of the matter is that as much as I hate it, I have to keep up some level of plausible deniability right now, just in case. Wait, you _do _know why it is that I’m going after your dad, right?”

“Um,” Daphne didn’t, “_other _than the fact that he’s a sanctimonious prick, I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Cyrus,” Susan explained, “is up to something. He’s started poking about in different aspects of marriage law, after the whole thing with Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour came public, the old guard is all a-twitter about ways that they can exploit that particular bit of public opinion to their own ends.”

Susan leaned across, brushing her hand across Daphne’s forearm.

“I don’t blame you by association, obviously, but if you weren’t already aware, your dad is just as _competent _as he is a complete and utter cunt. Whatever he’s up to… it might carry certain _requirements _for unmarried nobles like myself. They can’t compel people to marry, but they can make it a lot harder to access the powers granted to your house if you _aren’t_.”

_Fuck, Harry has two bloody houses._

“So, what, you’re planning on marrying some bloke if it comes down to it?” Daphne was surprised.

“Well, no, not _some bloke,_” Susan chuckled, “but neither am I going to parade some young woman around just for my benefit. It’s a complicated time for relationships, and there might be a lot on the line. I need to be careful about who I wind up tied to, and so do you.”

_Hmm, _Daphne pondered, _I don’t think you _could _pick someone more advantageous than Harry. _

She hadn’t pursued Harry due to _any _aspect of his political status, wealth, or fame, but neither was Daphne naïve enough to forget that he did carry these statuses through his life… and if she were honest with herself, the way that he had _dismantled _her father by casually flexing political and magical power was perhaps the tipping point that led to her deciding to pursue him more seriously.

“Oh?” Daphne asked, “and who are you thinking of ‘tying’ yourself to?”

Susan just leaned back, smirking deviously.

“Think you’ll figure that out pretty quick, Daphne!”

_Yes, I think I’d like to be friends with Susan, _Daphne realized. _That sounds _much _more appealing than winding up as one of her enemies. _

* * *

Daphne inspected herself in her mirror, turning to spin around, pleased with the way that her top dipped in the back to show skin, her skirt billowing and (conveniently) flowy and loose. Pansy was coming back today, and she had sent a message in the shared conversation with Daphne and Harry that she wanted to meet up and talk.

Satisfied with her appearance, Daphne retrieved some floo powder, speaking “12 Grimmauld Place” into her fireplace as she threw it into the flames. After the brief, dizzying journey, she found herself in Harry’s lounge. She heard voices coming from Harry’s bedroom, and they _didn’t _sound like happy ones.

_Fuck._

Hurrying up the stairs, she started to catch bits and pieces of Harry and Pansy’s apparent argument as she approached.

“...slept with someone?” Pansy cried; the beginning of the sentence too unclear for Daphne to have caught.

“Well, what does it matter?” Harry wasn’t raising his voice, but his frustration was clear, “it’s not like you’re my girlfriend or anything!”

Daphne rounded the corner, entering the doorway at the same time as Pansy yelled “well, I could be!”

_Oh._

There was a moment of silence as Harry stared at her with eyes wide, Pansy whirling around to face her, tears evident in her own eyes.

“I… I should go,” Daphne muttered, turning around to leave.

* * *

Pansy

_Fucking hell, Parkinson, do you have the magic power to say the wrong thing at the wrong time?_

As Daphne’s hurt flashed across her face, Pansy had already made up her mind, surging into action to close the distance between the two of them as Daphne turned away.

“No, don’t,” Pansy pleaded, latching her arms around Daphne’s waist. Daphne didn’t _struggle, _per se, but she felt distinctly uncomfortable in Pansy’s grasp.

“This isn’t some conspiracy, some kind of secret behind your back, I’m just… I fucked up. This isn’t how I planned the conversation to go,” Pansy confessed.

“It’s fine, Pansy,” Daphne spoke stiffly, “I don’t want to get in the way.”

“Don’t be as much of an idiot as I am right now,” Pansy chided her, “_obviously _I want you included in this too. My mouth got ahead of my brain, okay?”

“Hmph,” Daphne’s response wasn’t exactly _encouraging, _but she did at least relax somewhat.

“Sit down, give me a minute, I’m going to go grab a drink,” Pansy commanded, turning over her shoulder to glance at Harry, who merely shrugged.

Hustling down to Harry’s kitchen, Pansy once more cursed her impulsivity – she’d gotten wrapped up in her ideas of how this conversation was supposed to go, had been thrown off when she’d _alluded _to the events that had taken place in France and Harry _didn’t _immediately get jealous, and had been in the middle of a particularly Pansy moment when Daphne had shown up.

She hoped that she hadn’t spoiled the possibility of things between the three of them, but as she took a shot of whiskey in Harry’s lounge (before pouring three glasses), Pansy also cursed herself for immediately leaping to the worst possible conclusion.

The three of them were _all _screwed up in their own ways, she knew: as evidenced by _right now_, she was impulsive and didn’t think things through before saying them, Harry was _too _unflappable and unbothered by the things that she expected _should _bother him in a way that suggested his calm demeanour was a way of pushing things aside, and Daphne was afraid of stumbling into a situation that saw her manipulated or used in some way.

_Which, of course, is exactly what it must have looked like when she stumbled in to my poorly-handled confession of “let’s date”, fuck._

As Pansy returned to Harry’s bedroom, she found Daphne seated in a chair against one wall, her arms crossed uncertainly across her body, and Harry himself sprawled on the edge of his bed, a lit cigarette in his mouth, his handy little air-freshening charm active in the air above him.

“Drink,” Pansy commanded, pushing glasses into each of Daphne and Harry’s hands, lighting a cigarette herself. The moment of respite, of silence, helped her to recentre her thoughts.

“Okay, so, I’ve absolutely made _pants _of how I wanted this to go,” Pansy finally started talking again, “but despite how… impulsive it came out, I was actually serious about what I said.” Gesturing around the room, more out of wanting to do _something _with her hands other than fidget than any other reason, Pansy continued, “I’ve had some time to think about it, and, well, I’m going to _keep _being selfish, but I think this is in a way that the two of you will approve of. I’m not going to run away or try and convince myself otherwise any more, I actually fucking _like _the two of you, and I want to try doing this for real, if you’re both still interested.”

The words spilling from her lips at a torrential pace had silenced the other two in the room momentarily, until Harry made a humming sound and finally started speaking himself.

“Well, uh,” He took a drink, apparently unprepared to actually say what he meant, “I’m… surprised. I guess I shouldn’t be, but it’s a pretty abrupt turn-around from where we were a couple weeks ago. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not against the idea, but I want to know where it’s coming from, first.”

Pansy sighed, before beginning her explanation: “Well, that’s what I was trying to get at before I threw a fit, really. When I was on vacation, there was someone who tried to hit on me, I think, and I realized in that moment that I’d rather be with _you two _than anyone else.” _Fuck, why was that so hard to say? _“I get it, I’m not good at explaining myself, but, well… that’s the best I can do.”

“How romantic,” Daphne spoke, her first words in a while, and something got all soft and warm in Pansy’s chest when she saw the smirk on the blonde’s face, “but, yeah, for my part, I’d rather be with the two of you than anyone else, as well.”

Pansy crossed the room to _flump _onto the bed beside Harry: still far enough away from him that she wasn’t in his personal space, but it felt better than standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“I mean, yeah,” Harry scratched at the back of his head, holding his glass and cigarette in his other hand with a practiced ease that Pansy found she appreciated, “it’s not like I’m turning down offers left and right like the two of you would have to, but, uh, I had someone hit on me recently too, and yeah, I was thinking about you two when I realized I had to put a stop to it.”

_The most desirable single man in all of Magical Britain doesn’t have offers “left and right”, _Pansy thought, smiling at Harry’s sheer _stubbornness _at accepting how bloody attractive he was.

“So,” Daphne spoke, uncrossing her arms, swirling her drink in her hands, “is this happening? Are we doing this, for real?”

“Hrm,” Harry grumbled, “look, yes, _yes_, I want to, but we have to lay down some expectations first. We’ve been lucky, so far, with how we’ve just sort of navigated by the seat of our pants, but if we’re doing this for real… we have to do it for _real_, not just assume that things will work out because it’s official. I’ve made that mistake before.”

_Look at you, Harry, you’re learning, _Pansy’s snort wasn’t as quiet as she’d hoped, and she just grinned bashfully at Harry when he looked at her with one raised eyebrow.

“Right, yeah,” Daphne stood up, crossing the room to lay across the end of Harry’s bed, the three of them arranged haphazardly, “that’s a good idea. We’ve got a lot to consider, honestly.”

“Like?” Pansy was at a bit of a loss, sure, they’d have to navigate some particular aspects of what form of monogamy (_heh, duogamy?) _their relationship took, but she didn’t see that as a pressing concern.

“Well, er,” Harry muttered in frustration, “look, you know how I’m the Lord of two Houses, yeah? That could be a problem in the future. I’m going to have to produce _heirs _and all that, and I’m not exactly saying that I expect to do so any time soon, but if that’s not on the table then I need to know. Even putting all that bullshite aside, I do want a family one day, yeah?”

Pansy glanced at Daphne, a bit nervous: she knew that this topic was a sensitive one for Daphne in particular, though at the same time she was struck with the _ridiculous _thought of a little girl with Daphne’s blue eyes and Harry’s black hair.

_If Harry and I have kids, _she thought, _they’re just going to look like little clones of the two of us. Lucky buggers._

“I do too,” Daphne finally answered, “you know my history, but… I’m not worried about that with you, Harry. I know you’d let me be part of that decision, and that’s important.”

“Not any time soon, yeah?” Pansy added, “but, well, if you want to knock me up some day, Potter, I suppose I’d allow it.”

Harry chuckled, setting his glass down on his bedside dresser, flopping on his back so that all three of them were laid out on his bed.

“There’s political angles, too,” Daphne spoke sadly, “I don’t know if you’re aware, Harry, but apparently my father is up to something with marriage laws. This whole thing might wind up even more serious than we’d anticipated, if he pulls some bullshite at the Wizengamot.”

“Yeah, I’d heard,” Harry shrugged, “if push comes to shove, I can put a stop to anything particularly troublesome there. Not planning to, it’d cause _more _complications really, but don’t worry about being forced to marry me.”

_“I’m Harry Potter and I can stop laws that I don’t like from passing”, _Pansy thought, _it’s like he doesn’t even realize how _hot _he’s being right now. _

“So, what is there to worry about?” Pansy asked, “we all like each other, we all want to do this, and if it gets that far it sounds like it would even work long-term, yeah?”

“Well,” Harry rolled to his side, facing the two witches on his bed, “that’s one of my conditions. Yeah, we all like each other, but I’m going to make the decision right now: if we’re doing this thing, it has to be all three of us doing it. I don’t want it to turn into some problem where two of us wind up splitting off from the third, yeah?”

“Hmm,” Daphne sighed, “yeah, that’s a good idea. I’m optimistic, Harry, Pansy, but as you could tell, I don’t like the idea of the two of you conspiring behind my back. I know that I’m being paranoid, but it would help if I know that it’s either the three of us together, or none of us together.”

“Yeah, alright,” Pansy agreed, “that’s still not a problem for me. Anything else you’re worried about, Daph?”

“I’m not ready to go public quite yet,” Daphne shrugged, “I don’t mind if a few people know, our friends and so on, but, well, I don’t want to be in _Witch Weekly _more than I have to.”

“Hah,” Harry chuckled, “agreed. Obviously, I talked to Hermione about us, but I’ve kept it pretty quiet otherwise.”

“I’ve talked to Blaise,” Pansy admitted, “I needed to ask him for some advice. That’s my biggest condition, I suppose… I don’t think that we should be fully, completely exclusive to each other.”

* * *

Harry

_Hmm, _Harry thought, _don’t like that._

“How so?” He asked, confused at the direction Pansy had taken things. When she’d been the first one to officially say “let’s be in a relationship”, he was surprised that she’d now be backing away from that. _Is she scared?_

“So, don’t go telling stories about this,” Pansy drawled beside him, “but like I said, I’ve talked to Blaise. His boyfriend and him have an agreement, if they both want to sleep with someone, well, they don’t see why they both shouldn’t enjoy that just because they’re official with each other.”

_Blaise has a boyfriend? Blaise fucking Zabini settled down?_

“Uh,” Daphne spoke, “I’m not sure. How would that work?”

“Who knows?” Pansy rolled over onto her stomach, reaching across Harry to put her glass down, “we can deal with it as it comes up, but, well, it just seems rational to me. All three of us like women, so if we all want to shag someone, why wouldn’t we? We’re already doing something unconventional.”

“That seems unfair,” Harry spoke, confused, “because, well, I’m not into blokes, so that sounds more like you’re trying to appease me somehow, I don’t need to see other women in addition to you two.”

“Oh, Harry,” Daphne giggled, as he looked at her with the slightest degree of bewilderment, “you might very well be the only straight man on this planet who could have _two _women agreeing to date you, offering to let you have sex with _more _women on top of that, and be concerned about it not being _fair _to us.”

“Daph’s right,” Pansy chuckled, “you’re fucking ridiculous, Harry. Sure, maybe it’s not really the _fairest _thing on paper, but frankly, I have absolutely shite taste in men, present company excluded,” she stuck her tongue out at Harry, silencing his protest before it could begin, “but _excellent _taste in women. If we all agree, what’s the harm?”

“I am still a bit concerned,” Daphne spoke, as she in turn rolled on to her back, sliding beside Pansy, “I don’t want the two of you out chasing other women, and I’m not planning to myself, but, well, I think Pansy’s right. If we’re all in favour, what’s the harm? There aren’t too many men that interest me, so it’s no real problem for me to give up other blokes.”

“It just seems,” Harry licked his lips, completely unsure how to process _this _development, “I dunno, it seems like you’re doing too much for me? I’m already lucky enough that the two of you are interested in me for some reason, I don’t need to push that into trying to find _more _girlfriends, yeah?”

“It doesn’t have to be more _girlfriends_, you dolt,” Pansy’s taunt was lacking any real venom behind it, “we all like women, so if we find someone that all three of us want to fuck, we can have a four-way, or something, yeah?”

_A four-way? How does that even work? _Harry thought, before his memory brought up Luna’s recent words to him, her promise to “speak with his girlfriends”, and the images that filled his mind quickly distracted him from most of his protests.

“It sounds like you’re trying to build me a harem, or something,” Harry chuckled, pushing the thoughts of two blondes, one brunette, and himself out of his mind, “I still think it’s doing too much for me.”

“That’s because you’re an idiot,” Pansy gently smacked his arm, “thinking that it would be building a harem for _you, _how preposterous. Clearly, I’ve just acquired the first two members of _my _harem, and you should both count yourselves lucky that I like you enough to make you the favourites.”

“Oh, hush,” Daphne giggled, in turn slapping Pansy’s arse lightly, “I don’t think we should push for that any time soon, but if that’s your condition, Pans, I’m on board.”

Harry’s mind went in a much less pleasurable direction, thinking of the recent events in the Wizengamot, of his surprising use of _Sectumsempra _by instinct… _well, I can tell them about _that _detail later, _he decided, _it’s still not official, anyways, and hopefully I’ll never have reason to claim my other Houses. _

“Fine,” Harry grumbled, “I still think you’re being ridiculous, but if it makes _you _happy, then I suppose we can leave that door open for now.”

A couple of moments passed, as the three of them each – presumably – ran through their own internal worries, hopes, and reasons to be excited.

“So,” Harry broke the silence, “we’re doing this, then? Dating for real?”

“Absolutely,” Daphne answered, as Pansy added “definitely” shortly after.

“What are we changing?” Harry tried to suppress his inner doubts, “I mean, this _feels _right, but are we doing things differently? You’ll have to help me out here,” he admitted, “because I might be absolutely _pants _at relationships.”

“All of us are, I figure,” Pansy drawled, “but this doesn’t have to change a lot. Apparently, we’re all out there turning down other people already, so we can do the exclusive thing until any particularly appealing opportunities arrive to change that.”

“I guess we can see each other more often?” Daphne ventured, “I don’t want to sound needy or anything, but I’d rather not go weeks without seeing the two of you.”

“Hmm,” Harry pondered, “that’s another question, I suppose: if all three of us are dating, what do we do when one of us is busy?”

The two witches looked at him as if he were the dumbest man alive, and he guessed that he might very well be, to be expressing all these _doubts _and _concerns _when two absolutely, drop-dead gorgeous, _incredible _women wanted to date him.

“Harry, you have my absolute, enthusiastic approval to spend time with Daphne without me there,” Pansy reassured him.

“Same for me,” Daphne said, reaching across Pansy – _their _girlfriend,_ Merlin – _to pat Harry’s shoulder, “I’m not worried about that in the slightest, you and Pans can hang out even if I’m busy.”

“Alright,” Harry continued, trying (and failing) to find anything else to worry himself over, “and, yeah, you two can see each other without me there. I just want to hear about it,” he joked, waggling his eyebrows.

“Ugh,” Pansy groaned, “Harry, shut up, come here, and kiss your _girlfriends_.”

He did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this marks the end of this particular installment of the story of our trio's - now *official* - relationship!
> 
> Epilogue to follow, and I'm officially requesting the following kinds of feedback:  
\- as always, I love to hear receptions to the chapter itself  
\- what directions would you like to see the trio's relationship go in? They're in it for the long haul now, so without *spoilers*, there's no concerns about developments that would lead to a break-up  
\- would you like to see more slice-of-life fluff, more political plots and other forms of conflict outside of the relationship, neither, or a mix of the two?  
\- should other people enter the relationship as temporary guests, or perhaps even as something more? If so, who? There's some characters that are off-limits (Hermione, Ginny, other women in committed relationships at this point in the story), but I'm open to some suggestions even if I have my own candidates in mind  
\- any other comments about the Triplicity universe, including Best Behaviour
> 
> This isn't the last I plan to write in this universe, but I might take some time to write some one-shots or other short-run works before returning to Part 3 of Triplicity - I'd also love to hear suggestions/requests there!


	22. Close (Daphne/Pansy/Harry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The finale of this installment of the trio's relationship - Daphne, Pansy, and Harry thoroughly enjoy each other's company, and make some vague plans for the future

Daphne

Daphne ran her fingers down Pansy’s side as Harry leaned over the brunette witch to take her lips in his.

_Well, this turned out better than I’d hoped, _she thought, full of excitement at this development in their (now-_official_) relationship. Daphne’s hand found its way under the hem of Pansy’s top, gliding her palm along Pansy’s stomach. Harry separated from Pansy, taking a moment to grin at Daphne before leaning in to kiss her in turn.

Daphne parted her lips to allow Harry’s tongue into her mouth, sighing as she felt Pansy’s hands fussing at the waistband of her skirt, Pansy’s nimble fingers pressing against the base of Daphne’s pelvis, just above her sex. Harry adjusted his position, one of his hands trailing up Daphne’s torso to grip her breast.

“Clothes off,” Pansy commanded, “right now.”

Daphne giggled as her and Harry ended their kiss, each sitting up to begin stripping themselves, as Pansy had – somehow – already managed to divest herself from her top and bra alike, moving on to remove Daphne’s skirt. Daphne shimmied her hips to aid the other witch, tossing her blouse off to the side and reaching behind herself to remove her bra.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, you know,” Pansy spoke up, and Daphne felt a blush rise at the back of her neck.

“You both are,” Harry agreed, standing up to pull his jeans down, his half-erect cock already outlined in his underwear in a way that increased the heat Daphne felt between her legs. Pansy had apparently thought the same, as she crawled around to her hands and knees, pressing her face against Harry’s groin, mouthing at his cock through the fabric.

Daphne took the opportunity to fully divest herself of her remaining clothing, then in turn crawled behind Pansy, peeling the other woman’s own skirt down. Daphne bit her lip in appreciation as Pansy’s thong-clad arse was revealed to her, taking her time in removing that final garment, as Pansy moaned and arched her back to better present her bare pussy to Daphne.

“Fuck…” Harry groaned, as Daphne made eye contact with him as she lowered her face against Pansy’s arse, running her tongue up the length of Pansy’s slit. Daphne rubbed her own thighs together as she gripped Pansy’s arse, pressing her mouth against the brunette’s soaking pussy, who demonstrated her approval by practically tearing Harry’s underwear down, bobbing her head over his manhood.

“Pans, move back a bit,” Harry commanded, and Pansy made a little disappointed sound but nonetheless crawled backwards on his bed, Daphne having to temporarily abandon her _own _task to accommodate the change in position. As Harry kicked his jeans away, he lowered himself to the bed at an angle, reaching out to grab at Daphne’s thighs as he pulled her closer to him.

_Oh! _Daphne realized, turning herself to help facilitate what she thought Harry had in mind: _I know what a sixty-nine is, _she thought, _I wonder what _this _is called._

The trio arranged themselves in a rough triangle on their sides, Pansy returning to her noisy cock-sucking even as she reached down to pull Daphne’s face back between her legs, Harry turning Daphne’s hips towards his own face as he leaned in to press his lips against her clit.

_Merlin, this is nice._

Daphne did her best to stay focused on eating Pansy’s wet pussy, alternating between deep, slow licks and flickers of her tongue over Pansy’s clit, but the fact of the matter was that Harry was _quite _skilled at oral sex in his own right, and the way that he plunged his tongue _inside _of her at times was driving her halfway to distraction.

Pansy, meanwhile, seemed more capable of multitasking, her moans muffled by the way that her head bobbed back and forth over Harry’s cock, Daphne being able to hear and _feel _Pansy’s motions even if her view was delightfully obscured by Pansy’s arse.

_This is a fun position, _Daphne mused as she swam in a pleasurable haze, _we’re all connected to each other, like this. _

She moaned into Pansy’s cunt when Harry gripped her arse firmly and _buried _his tongue inside of her, one of his fingers gently tracing around her arsehole teasingly. Daphne _felt _him moan as – from the way her motions temporarily stopped – she presumed that Pansy had begun to deep-throat his cock in earnest.

As was usual for the trio, Daphne was the first one to reach her climax – the thought of Pansy’s actions enough to bring her over the edge – as she shuddered and her thighs clenched around Harry’s head (who merely moaned in approval). A gentle tug at her hair was enough to remind Daphne to return to her own _duties_, swirling her tongue around Pansy’s clit, pressing it flat and wiggling it from side to side until Pansy, in turn, started to twitch above her.

“Fuck,” Harry groaned once more, as Pansy then dedicated herself to making the third member of their relationship come, Daphne rolling back from between the legs of one partner and (pulling her _other _partner’s head from between her legs) to watch.

“Fuck _yeah_,” Daphne agreed with Harry’s assessment, as she took sight of Pansy’s head bobbing back and forth with _purpose_, sloppy sucking sounds beginning to escape from her red-painted lips as she took Harry’s member very nearly to the base with each of her motions.

“Pans… _oh Merlin,_” Harry actually _moaned_, as he spilled himself into her mouth.

“Mmm,” Daphne hummed, as Harry slumped onto the bed on his back, “_that _was great. I _like _that position too.”

Daphne was struck by an idle thought that it was probably a _very good _sign that the trio was still discovering new kinds of positions and kinks for the three to explore together – not that she’d ever really been _concerned _about the possibility, but she didn’t want regular threesomes (of all things) to become _boring _if they were a regular routine.

“I agree,” Harry chuckled. Pansy, meanwhile, was uncharacteristically silent, just smirking as she prowled onto the bed, crawling towards Daphne on her hands and knees.

“_Mmph_,” Daphne spluttered as Pansy grabbed her face in one hand – roughly, but not _too _rough – pressing her cheeks together in a way that opened her mouth.

When Pansy crushed her lips into Daphne’s, Daphne immediately caught on to what Pansy was doing: she hadn’t yet swallowed Harry’s cum, and was now exchanging it with Daphne in a _very _sloppy make-out session.

Daphne moaned as the heat pooling between her legs only _increased_, somehow, as Pansy engaged her in the cum-sharing kink that Daphne had only recently discovered.

* * *

Pansy

_Thought you’d like that, _Pansy thought appreciatively, as Daphne writhed beneath her, their tongues sliding against each other in a coating of Harry’s cum, the _debauchery _of the act certainly enough to send tingles of pleasure running down Pansy’s spine as well.

Pansy shifted overtop of Daphne, bringing her knees under the blonde’s thighs. She pressed forward, crushing their tits together, pressing Daphne’s legs back so that her _absolutely drenched cunt_ was tilted upwards towards Pansy’s own. Shuffling her own knees forwards, Pansy positioned the two so that they were pussy-to-pussy, the slight grinding motions brough on by Pansy’s readjustment enough to press their sexes against each other.

“Mmph, _Pansy,” _Daphne practically _begged_, as Pansy began to grind against her on purpose, their clits sometimes sliding into one another, sending pleasurable little shocks through both of the women.

_Not really the best position, _Pansy thought to herself, _but it’ll work for now._

“Haaaarry,” Pansy drawled, teasingly, “are you hard again yet?”

“Heh, actually,” Harry’s eyes were hooded in lust as he appreciated the scene before him, “I, uh, I’m _still _hard.”

_That’s new, _Pansy thought, but she didn’t blame the man: this was _the _most sexually-charged environment she’d ever experienced, putting even the _excellent _threesomes they’d engaged in before to shame.

“Well, get _in _here,” Pansy commanded, prompting a whining moan from Daphne.

Harry shuffled behind the two, but hesitated momentarily.

“Who’s first?” He teased, his proximity behind her sending another little thrill through Pansy even in addition to her writhing against the gorgeous witch _underneath _her.

“Both of us,” Pansy explained, reaching behind herself to grip Harry’s member, hot and hard and _thick _in her hand. She lifted her hips slightly, guiding Harry’s cock so that it lay along Daphne’s sex, the underside pressed against Daphne’s clit, before lowering herself again, sandwiching Harry between herself and Daphne.

“Mmm,” Pansy purred her approval. _Not much _physical _stimulation, but… **fuck**. _

“Holy _fuck_,” Harry gasped, apparently equally in approval, as he began to slowly move. The position didn’t really allow for much speed on the parts of any of the three, but the opportunity for all of them to grind each other at once like this was enough on its own to bring the heat in Pansy’s core to a boiling point.

Pansy leaned forward to press her face into Daphne’s neck, catching the slightest hint of the blonde’s vaguely-floral perfume as she began to lick and nip at the blonde’s sensitive skin, Daphne cooing and running her fingers through Pansy’s hair when Pansy grazed the underside of Daphne’s jaw with her teeth.

Wiggling her hips from side to side – which prompted hissed intakes of breaths from _both _of her lovers – Pansy then edged herself forwards even further, pushing Daphne’s legs back practically to her chest.

“She’s ready, Harry,” Pansy commanded, “_fuck _her—_EEP”_

Pansy’s noise of surprise (which was _not _a squeak, thank you very much) came when Harry had slid inside of _her _instead of Daphne, a disobedience that she was prepared to speak against despite how much she enjoyed it, until Harry took her hair in his hand and turned her face into his, pressing his tongue into her mouth.

_Oh, fine, I’ll let him think he’s in charge this once, _Pansy thought, practically rolling her eyes at herself as she couldn’t even take her _inner monologue _seriously at this point.

_Speaking of “in charge_…_”_ Pansy stopped trying to think rationally as Daphne reached up to grip her breasts, Daphne’s delicate fingers tweaking Pansy’s pierced nipples _hard_, a shock of pleasure bursting from her chest and racing down between her legs.

“Brat,” Pansy teased, separating from Harry, looking down at Daphne’s face (a tantalizing blush on her cheeks, her lips slightly red from kissing) smirking up at her. _Hmmph, _Pansy thought, _smirking, hey? _

Pansy reached back again to slide her fingers along the sides of Harry’s cock in a “v” shape, pushing him downwards and out of herself on the back-stroke of one of his thrusts. Thankfully, he got the message, shifting his weight to angle himself lower, pushing into Daphne (_deep, _by the shocked “o” that formed on her face) in one thrust.

Not that Pansy could remain smug for long, as she gasped in turn when Harry reached around her body, pressing his fingers against her clit, rubbing in small circles. Pansy slumped forward into Daphne, reaching up to turn the blonde’s head towards her to kiss her slowly, trapping Harry’s hand between the two women in a way that forced his digits upwards and _inside _Pansy.

Pansy couldn’t help but moan as Harry began to _fuck _them in earnest, his fingers (pinned as his wrist may have been) hooking upwards into Pansy as she heard the _slap _of his hips slamming into Daphne’s luscious arse with his thrusts. Pansy took Daphne’s face with both of her hands, trying to kiss the blonde just as roughly as Harry was fucking, overwhelming the woman who was pinned beneath both of them with their affections.

“Pansy… Harry… _aahhh,_” Daphne cried as Pansy felt her spasm, then felt Harry’s cock spring wetly from Daphne’s sex, the blonde squirting as she came.

_Fucking brilliant, _Pansy smirked, before turning over her shoulder to look back at Harry, one eyebrow arched as if to say “you’re not done yet”.

Harry slapped her arse in response, prompting a pleased noise from Pansy as she wiggled said arse in his direction, before he lined himself up with her once more and plunged in. One of his hands remained firmly planted on her arse, gripping and squeezing, but Pansy felt the other trail slowly, delicately up her spine, before Harry took hold of her hair once more and pulled her head back as he began to fuck her _hard_.

“Fuck yes, Harry,” Daphne groaned, leaning up to nip at the side of Pansy’s neck, so exposed by Harry’s grip in her hair, before wiggling free of the position trapping her underneath Pansy. Pansy couldn’t find it in herself to complain, her back arched thanks to Harry (okay, _maybe _she might admit that she was also leaning into it), Daphne pausing to tweak one of her nipples before she knee-walked over to Harry, their kisses audible to Pansy even over the sound of Harry’s hips pounding against her.

When Harry’s hand released her hair, Pansy slumped forward, her arse stuck in the air, feeling Daphne’s hands running slowly over her cheeks.

“Watch, Harry,” Daphne drawled.

* * *

Harry

Harry groaned as one of his _girlfriends _(he was still getting used to that fact, having begun to think that he’d remain a bachelor for the foreseeable future, and now finding _two _women willing to date him) commanded him to “watch”, as she delicately leaned down to his _other _girlfriend’s arse and started to trail her tongue over Pansy’s cheeks.

He certainly wasn’t _inexperienced _or anything, but Harry hadn’t really spent much time devoting himself to any specific kinks or particular fantasies during his single life, and he was now finding that there were _substantial _benefits to having Daphne and Pansy bouncing different fantasies and ideas off of each other.

Rationally, he knew that he’d have to work on expressing himself and his own desires better now that he was _dating _the pair, but in this moment, he was _more _than content to let his _girlfriends_ explore each other.

_Speaking of “explore…”_

Pansy moaned underneath him as Harry slowed his thrusts, allowing Daphne to run the tip of her tongue around Pansy’s arsehole, staring up at Harry with her _beautiful _blue eyes the entire time. As Harry took a more languid pace, it appeared that Pansy’s appreciation of his and Daphne’s actions only grew, beginning to mutter and curse under her breath as Daphne’s tongue danced from side to side.

It wasn’t long before Pansy broke underneath them, practically _shrieking _as she tensed up, the force of her orgasm sufficient to cause Harry’s cock to _pop _loose from her pussy, Daphne immediately lunging forwards to take it between her lips.

“Fuck, Daph,” Harry grunted, running a hand gently through her hair, as Pansy rolled herself over and clumsily turned around.

“Did you know, Harry,” Pansy spoke, the confidence in her tone belied by the way her voice was husky with lust, “that’s the first time Daphne rimmed me? And you got to watch, lucky bloke.”

“I’d say so,” Harry agreed, moaning as Pansy reached under Daphne’s chin to fondle his balls, “probably the luckiest bloke I know, really.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re getting a blowjob,” Pansy teased, as she leaned in to kiss him – more gently than he anticipated.

“Mm, he deserves another one,” Daphne chimed in, stopping her ministrations momentarily, “the two of you are fucking brilliant.”

“I _do _suppose that you haven’t cum a second time yet,” Pansy made a show of tapping her finger on her chin, as if in deep contemplation, “where would you like to?”

“On both of you,” Harry answered, instantly: this was _not _the time for him to dither and think about whether his request was reasonable or not, and besides he knew that this was a favourite of both of his (once again, still surprising him) _girlfriends_.

“Good answer,” Pansy drawled, as she lowered herself to kneel beside Daphne, both women on their hands and knees in front of Harry. As Daphne released his cock with a _pop_, Pansy was quick to replace her, taking Harry into her mouth once again.

Harry couldn’t help but contrast their two styles of oral sex: Pansy was _fast, _aggressive, taking him deep into her mouth and throat, where Daphne was more _sensual, _using her tongue and hands a lot more than Pansy tended to. Both approaches, as far as Harry was concerned, were utterly fucking incredible.

“Haaaarry,” Daphne whined, “are you going to cum for us? Cover your slutty little girlfriends _all over_?”

_Fuck. Her dirty talking definitely hits differently when it’s “girlfriends”, _Harry thought in approval.

“Mmm,” He replied, leaning over the pair to grip one of their arses in each of his hands, “keep going and I will.”

When Pansy released him, Daphne took grip of his cock by the base, and he glanced down at the pair to see her jacking him off urgently, her mouth open and tongue extended. Pansy, apparently, had different ideas, rising back to her knees and – _Merlin – _pressing her breasts against Daphne’s face, so that Daphne’s tongue was flicking alongside both the head of Harry’s cock and one of Pansy’s nipples at once.

“Fuck!” Harry cried, not able to resist this sight – his first orgasm was powerful, but his second was _monumental, _his cum practically _exploding _from his cock and streaking to cover Pansy’s tits and Daphne’s face alike in one, three, _five_ separate pulses.

_I don’t think I’ve cum that hard in my bloody life, _Harry thought, as he sunk to his heels, his head practically drowning in euphoria. His _girlfriends, _meanwhile, had begun to snog each other once more, giggling and licking at each other. Harry once again appreciated the benefits of dating women on the less-vanilla side of things, as he made a contended sound, sinking into his bed on his back.

“Shove over,” Pansy ordered, pushing him towards the middle of the bed, before immediately claiming his now-vacated spot and sliding in beside him. Daphne curled up against his other side in short order, as the trio lay there, catching their breaths, all three of them running their fingers against each others’ skin.

“So _that _was fucking incredible,” Harry spoke, drawing a giggle from Daphne and a smirk from Pansy.

“Just think, Potter,” Pansy drawled, “now we get to do that _all the time_.”

“Well,” Daphne’s voice was a bit shaky, though the wide smile on her face and the blush still on her cheeks assured Harry that it wasn’t due to _nerves _or anything, “it doesn’t have to be _that _all the time. After all, there’s so much more that we still have to try.”

_Fucking absolutely brilliant, _Harry decided.

“So, what now?” Harry asked, “in terms of tonight, that is.”

“Well, I’m going to need a shower, since _somebody _came all over me,” Pansy teased, “but after that? Well, my evening’s free.”

“Mine too,” Daphne agreed. 

“Obviously, I want the two of you to stay tonight,” Harry shrugged, “haven’t really got an idea beyond that.”

“Let’s fucking celebrate,” Pansy announced, “let’s get fucking drunk together, shag again, and just have _fun_.”

Harry thought that was an absolutely _perfect _idea.

* * *

Later in the evening, the trio was in fine spirits indeed, all of them drunk enough to be loud and giggly without being _impaired _by any means.

“D’you know why Voldemort looked like that?” Harry said, finding himself able to talk about some parts of the Wizarding War without the usual fears and regrets overtaking him.

“Why’s that?” Daphne asked, “I assume it was the result of a rish- a rits- a, fucking _magic stuff._”

“Nobody nose,” Harry answered, grinning conspiratorially as he tapped his own nose.

Pansy absolutely _howled _in laughter at this, smacking Harry in the shoulder. The trio were sprawled out on the couch in Harry’s lounge together, a tangle of limbs and bodies that felt _comfortable._

“You know why us Slytherins never really liked McGonagall?” Pansy asked, giggling at her own joke, “she could be awfully _catty_!”

“Ugh,” Daphne groaned, “you two are the _worst_.”

“Genius is never appreciated in its time,” Harry mused, chuckling.

“I swear, you must be Boggarts,” Daphne said, licking her lips, “because you’re _Riddikulus.”_

“Aah!” Pansy cried, “Daph! You’re learning!”

“Our Daph _is _kind of a genius,” Harry agreed.

“Oh, hush,” Daphne took her turn to smack Harry’s arm, “and you’re the most powerful Wizard of our generation. Or do I have to _spell _it out for you?”

“Aww,” Pansy groaned, this time, “that was a stretch. I’ll let it go because you’re so pretty, but _serious.”_

“No,” Harry spoke with false gravity, “Sirius was my godfather.”

“Y’know, I had wondered how you wound up a Black,” Daphne admitted, “I figured it was something to do with the war, how’d he wind up as your godfather?”

“He was framed,” Harry shrugged, the topic somehow failing to set off any sad memories – of course the fact that he was currently curled up with his _girlfriends, _two absolutely _sinful _Slytherin witches, would undoubtedly bring a smile to Sirius’s face, “it turns out that he never even had a trial, so he was still the head of House Black. He named me his heir because otherwise _Draco _was going to attain the title.”

“Hah!” Pansy chuckled, “both of my boyfriends, the fake one _and _the real one, were Heirs of Black!”

“Pfft,” Daphne joked, “so far a hundred percent of my significant others are pureblood nobles. I’m absolutely failing at the whole ‘open-minded new generation’ thing, aren’t I?”

“Well, your _girlfriend_ has something to say about that,” Pansy teased, leaning over Harry to kiss Daphne, “but honestly, fuck all that. I can’t believe I ever got suckered into the whole ‘Pureblood Supremacy’ bullshit, _this _half-blood,” she palmed Harry’s groin over the lounge pants he was wearing, “outdoes _every _Pureblood man put together.”

“If only I’d known the magical power of my penis,” Harry joked, “I could have fixed the whole inter-house war thing back in my sixth year.”

“Fourth,” Pansy said, before she clamped her hands over her mouth and blushed.

“Fourth?” Harry asked, confused.

“_Our Pansy_,” Daphne drawled, “had a crush on you in fourth year.”

“Well, it all worked out, innit?” Harry felt a blush of his own growing.

“You two,” Pansy leaned into Daphne again, her hand once more returning to Harry’s groin, “are _insufferable. _Also, let’s go to bed.”

Harry didn’t find _Daphne _insufferable, but otherwise, he agreed with the sentiment.

* * *

_Marriage Law Reform Upcoming?_

_The Prophet has learned, through various sources, that the noble Lord Cyrus Greengrass has begun pursuing the passage of new acts which could influence the state of marriage within Magical Britain._

_ “Given the recent developments in the divorce granted to William Weasley and Fleur Delacour,” a source states, “it is only logical that we investigate the structure of Marriage Law as it applies to those of fully-Human nature. We don’t intend to remove the privileges that these partially-Human people have been able to enjoy, but it is well-known that many Magical Marriages are the results of negotiated contracts or agreements made by others, and many fine Wizards and Witches find themselves stuck in situations with partners who are not of the same standard.”_

_While the Prophet cannot speculate as to the contents of any proposed acts, the impression at the Wizengamot is that Wizarding society should move into the modern era, and make it possible for Wizards and Witches of good standing to pursue marriages that are more suitable for them than those which have been arranged during follies of youth or agreements between their parents._

_“The future of my House is in peril,” says a second source, “don’t get me wrong, my [spouse] is adequate enough, I suppose, but we haven’t produced an heir despite [a number] of years trying. It’s unfair to my ancient legacy that I cannot seek a more suitable [spouse] for my requirements.”_

_This is, of course, a known failure of the system of magical marriages, even those which are marked by a failure to produce progeny are required to continue due to the binding nature of marriages registered with the Ministry of Magic. While it is unlikely that the efforts of Lord Greengrass and others would result in undermining the sanctity of those marriages which are bound by magical oaths, the Prophet has come to understand that such arrangements are a minority, and often affect only the wife in such a contract._

_The purity of Witches, of course, must not be discarded in these efforts to modernize marriage law: the Prophet merely reports on what has developed in the realm of politics, without commentary or bias, and does not imply that any marriage reform should allow young witches to marry whoever they please, have their fun, and then seek a more suitable partner for their later years._

_For more reporting on the Weasley-Delacour divorce, please see the article on page 13, titled “Werewolfs and Veelas: An impossible match?”_

* * *

Harry grumbled at the paper as he tossed it aside, returning to his task of preparing breakfast. One of the immediate benefits that he’d discovered of making their relationship _official _was that there was no longer the awkward moment of hesitation where Daphne or Pansy (or both) clearly _wanted _to stay over, but acted as if they didn’t want to intrude or something – now, the trio had spent a _very _enjoyable night in bed together, no awkwardness involved.

As if on cue from his thoughts about them, Daphne and Pansy entered the kitchen together, and Harry was once more struck by how _gorgeous _each of them was. While he’d – regrettably – been one of the people to taunt Pansy as “pug-face” when they were in school, the way she’d matured and grown into her features left her button-like nose absolutely _adorable, _not that Harry would risk calling her that. Daphne, of course, was beautiful even as a teen, and had only grown more attractive in her twenties, but Harry quite honestly found that he didn’t prefer either to the other.

_Now that I think of it…_

Ever since his conversation with Hermione, Harry had found himself considering different _pairs _of women, and he found it difficult to uncover any combination that quite lined up with his own preferences in the way that Pansy and Daphne did. Pansy was petite, _fierce_, and had _incredible _tits, while Daphne was cool, tall, and had an _outrageous _arse, contrasting with each other in a way that didn’t diminish either of the women by comparison.

Of course, when it came to sexual matters, Pansy or Daphne alone would have stood among Harry’s favourite experiences, but together, it was nearly _incomparable. _He felt a slight amount of internal guilt at acting as if he were tallying notches on a belt, but really, of his various partners over the years, only his times with Padma or Katie had lived up, and those were both situations intensified by their inherently temporary nature.

“’Mornin, darlin’,” Pansy announced their entrance, and Harry smirked. _Darlin’, hey? _

“Morning, you two,” He put Pansy’s coffee and Daphne’s tea on the table, “how’d you sleep?”

“Fucking _great_,” Daphne said, “you two have _no idea_ how much I was worrying about things until we sorted it all out.”

“Heh,” Pansy chuckled, “actually, I think I have some idea. Pansy fucking Parkinson, in a relationship? Perish the thought. You two are lucky you’re worth it.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, “I honestly thought I was going to be doing the bachelor thing for… well, for a while. You two surprised me, and I’m fucking _thrilled _about it.”

“Aww, aren’t you sweet,” Pansy teased, sipping her coffee, “but it’s good that you know how fucking _special _you are, Potter.”

“Oh?” Harry retrieved his own coffee as he balanced various plates of breakfast food on his arm, “how so?”

“Well, you know how I talked about the whole not-quite-monogamous thing?” Pansy paused, licking her lips, “well, I think I gave up a chance to shag a _Veela _because I’m so fucking enamored with the two of you.”

“Really?” Daphne interjected, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m happy you did, but a _Veela?”_

“Well, part, I suppose,” Pansy locked her eyes on Harry. _She doesn’t mean…? _“I’m reasonably certain that Fleur Delacour was hitting on me in France.”

_Fleur? _Harry couldn’t help but imagine _those _possibilities, _I didn’t even know she was into women?_

“Hmm,” Daphne tapped her fingers on her tea mug, “yeah, I wouldn’t _blame _you, but that would certainly intimidate me. She’s bloody _perfect, _and now that she’s single again, well, I could see her trying to snap someone up.”

_She'd snap Pansy up? _Harry wondered.

“You should know,” Pansy leaned back in her seat, “you, Daphne, have a better arse than a fucking _part-Veela. _Don’t get too excited, Harry, I was just measuring Fleur to make clothes for her.”

_Well, Daphne _does _have a great arse, _Harry agreed, chuckling.

“If we’re talking about these things,” he continued, “I guess I should tell you that Luna basically told me she wants to sleep with me, but, uh, she said she wanted to talk to ‘my girlfriends’ first.”

“Hmm?” Pansy was curious, “thought you hadn’t told people about us?”

“I hadn’t,” Harry answered honestly, “Luna, well, she just _knows _things. We weren’t even officially dating when she said that.”

“I did think,” Daphne weighed in, “at Astoria and Ronald’s announcement, that there was something going on with you and Luna. Honestly, I’d thought you’d already shagged her.”

“No, no,” Harry reassured her, “we’ve never done anything like that. Full disclosure, can’t say I’ve _never _thought about it, but, well, it just didn’t happen.”

“Hmm,” Pansy stared into her coffee, “well, she’s _gorgeous, _I can’t say I’m opposed, but, well, she’s a bit out there, yeah?”

“Oh, no,” Harry clarified, “I’m really not pushing for anything. Like I said, I am _perfectly _content with just the two of you.”

Daphne frowned, as if deep in thought.

“Well, uh, I’m not _certain _about this, but now that we’re talking about it, I’m kind of wondering if Susan Bones might have flirted with me.”

_Sue? _Harry thought, _well, that makes sense, her and Daph are both publicly known to date women… _

“How so?” Pansy inquired.

“Well, she’s commissioned me to make a piece of art for her,” Daphne shrugged, “and I thought that she was giving me overtures to be friends with her… but now that the two of you are confessing to how popular you are, I suppose I can’t rule it out that she was maybe being a bit flirtatious?”

“Uh, well,” Harry shrugged, “I’m pretty sure Sue’s gay, so that kind of rules her out, I think? I mean, I suppose I could get on board if you really wanted to…”

“No, no,” Daphne dismissed his concern, “I’m not even sure she _was_, I just didn’t want to be left out of your two’s confessions. Besides, _any _other woman is a concern for the future, not for now, right?”

“Definitely,” Pansy agreed, “I’m still getting used to this _relationship _idea, I don’t want to push things too far, too fast.”

“Is there anything in particular you _do _want?” Harry ventured.

“Well, yeah,” Pansy agreed, “I’ve never actually been on a proper date, so I expect at _least _one of you to rectify that for me.”

“Same for me!” Daphne cheerily added.

_Hmm, _Harry thought, _that sounds nice._

* * *

Pansy

It was a similar scene to her last morning at Harry’s place a few days later, when she’d spent the night with him and was _more _than happy to take advantage of his offer to prepare breakfast the next day.

“So,” Pansy ventured, “the Aurors warned me that something might be coming down on my father, but I haven’t seen anything in the papers. Is there anything that you’re allowed to tell me about that?”

“Hmm,” Harry thought, scratching at the stubble on his chin in a way that Pansy _thoroughly _enjoyed, “nothing that I’ve heard, and that’s not me hiding something I can’t talk about, but between you and I, yeah, your dad’s name came up a _lot _in invoices of varying legality.”

“That sounds like him,” Pansy agreed, “Harry? You do know that I’m not involved, right?”

“Of course,” Harry stamped down on the brief moment of her insecurities appearing, “everything you’ve told me about him… yeah, I don’t blame you for never speaking to your parents again.”

“Thanks, Harry,” Pansy said, and she surprised herself when she _meant _it. “What’ve you got lined up today?”

“Reports, reports, and, hmm, reports,” Harry groaned, “you?”

“I’ve got a collection to finish putting together for our mutual part-Veela friend,” Pansy sipped her coffee before continuing, “though I’ve already sent her a few pieces.”

“Right, yeah,” Harry scratched at the back of his head, and Pansy frowned – she knew he did that when he was anxious, “she’s not being too, er, _Fleur _with you, is she? I haven’t spoken with her in a bit, but her and I _are _friends, I can hint that she should back off if you want.”

“No, no,” Pansy reassured him, “she’s been remarkably well behaved ever since I left France. Besides, I doubt that it’s _me _that should be worried about her.”

“Daphne?” Harry frowned in confusion, “I didn’t know they’d even met.”

_You absolutely adorable idiot, _Pansy thought.

“No, Harry,” she sighed, “I’m reasonably sure that Fleur fucking Delacour wants to shag _you_.”

“What?” Harry seemed _surprised_, bless him, “Why would she want that? I mean, I guess that I saved Gabrielle’s life technically, and we did always get along, and, oh, shite.”

“Indeed,” Pansy teased, sipping her coffee calmly, “I don’t _need _to say it, but I know you’re going to work yourself into a fit if I don’t, so, yes, Harry, Daphne and I trust you to behave yourself. Even with a part-Veela.”

Harry muttered something under his breath, but thankfully didn’t protest that he wasn’t _that _special or anything so ridiculous as that – the more she got to know him, the more that Pansy realized that Harry fucking Potter was _absolutely _a rare sort of person, one who actually _exceeded _the reputation that he despised so much.

They finished their breakfasts in a comfortable silence with one another, Pansy draining her mug of coffee at last.

“Mm,” Pansy hummed, “I’d best be off, I do have rather a lot on my plate. Don’t work too hard, hey?”

“Heh,” Harry chuckled, rising from his seat, “I never do, really.”

“Oh, bullshite,” Pansy smiled, standing up as well, leaning in to kiss Harry across the table, “d’you fancy trying to convince Daphne to leave her art alone this weekend? Maybe we can catch a film, or something?”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, “that sounds brilliant.”

_It really does._

* * *

_Beautiful in black!_

_Recently single, Fleur Delacour has been sighted in the London nightlife, as we’ve captured in the picture spread opposite this article!_

_Fleur Delacour (once Weasley), as you can see, looks absolutely smashing in her daring new look, the black satin robes a style that very few could pull off, and yet the French bombshell does!_

_“Oh, eet eez a piece from a fren’ of mine,” the part-Veela, all-gorgeous woman reported, before she revealed the designer of her daring new apparel: none other than Pansy Parkinson, the owner of Serpentine, the hottest new shop on the Knockturn block!_

_For tips on how to imitate Fleur’s sexy look, we recommend visiting our friends at Madam Malkins – see below for tips on how to shop like Fleur on a budget!_

_ Witch Weekly Autumn Style Edition_

* * *

Daphne

“I don’t get it,” Daphne admitted, “how did the white guy, you know, with the hair and the dance moves, show up alive again? Didn’t he get shot?”

“It’s non-sequential,” Harry explained, “the scenes in the movie don’t show up in the same order as they happened.”

“Hmm,” Daphne pondered, “okay, yeah, I can see that. Pansy, did you style yourself after this Mia woman?”

“Heh,” Pansy snorted, “you’re lucky she’s _also _a fashion icon or I might be insulted.”

“So, what’d you think?” Harry inquired, stretching over the back of his couch, “it’s a classic in the Muggle film world, apparently.”

“I can see why, I think,” Daphne continued, “it’s very… _cool_? Is that the right way of describing it?”

“I think you’re right on target, sweet,” Pansy told her, “and let’s also thank Harry for his very clever little magic tricks, letting us manage to watch a _video _in his magical fucking mansion.”

“It, heh, it wasn’t actually my trick,” Harry explained, “Ron actually helped me set it up. He’s honestly brilliant at tinkering with Muggle technology, wait until you see his house.”

“Oh?” Pansy pondered, “so the two of you are taking me home to show off to your friend and sister, are you?”

“Well, yes!” Daphne smiled, “we’ve been going out officially for _weeks _now, and nothing has imploded, you have to admit that this is going well.”

“I suppose I might be persuaded to admit that,” Pansy shrugged, “and here I thought that the two of you were just particularly enjoyable shags, at first. Now you’re my _girlfriend _and _boyfriend,” _her voice was almost incredulous, but the teasing edge underneath detracted from that impression, “I’ve gone soft.”

“Nah, you’re still terrifying,” Harry teased back, “last week, when I admitted that I didn’t know the difference between velvet and velour? _Yeesh_, I thought you were going to kill me.”

“Hush,” Pansy smacked his arm, “you brute. Daph, how much free time do you have left?”

“Hmm,” Daphne quickly cast _Tempus, _checking the time, “I’d say another hour or so before I should get back to work, why?”

Pansy’s grin was positively _predatory_.

“Harry,” Pansy ordered, “grab her arms.”

Harry obeyed, as Daphne shrieked in faux-protest, Pansy kissing her and starting to unbutton her blouse.

_I can really get used to this._

* * *

“So,” Pansy spoke, “how’s the piece coming along?”

“It’s getting there,” Daphne explained, “I think there’s another week or two yet, it depends on how many more changes Susan requests. ‘Make it about, well, ten percent gayer’ was the last change,” she chuckled.

“Hmm,” Pansy sipped her tea – a rare concession, but considering that Daphne had lured her into a proper _date_, a welcome one – before continuing, “and what’s Susan been _like _lately? Still flirting with you?”

“There’s nothing to be jealous of,” Daphne answered, patting Pansy’s hand reassuringly, “I won’t say she’s been _entirely _professional, but no, there haven’t been any more vague allusions to forging a _coven_, of all things.”

“Those _were _a real thing, y’know,” Pansy began, before snorting, “of course you know, your grades were way better than mine. But still, it miiiiight,” she drew the phrase out to its breaking point, “be something we have to consider. Our boyfriend is _terribly _powerful, after all.”

_Hmm, _Daphne thought, _that’s a good point. _While the trio had yet to explore any other _candidates _to share their bedroom, she hadn’t thought of how Harry’s – frankly – ridiculous amount of magical power might influence those proceedings. After all, as she knew, powerful magic-users attracted _allies _of different sorts, and the long-extinct practice of covens almost seemed tailor-made for their relationship the more she thought of it: a circle of witches gathered around a central warlock, with an “inner circle” forming the key to the arrangement.

“Well, I guess we’ll keep it in mind?” Daphne shrugged, “besides, I don’t think Susan would be your first choice, she’s not blonde enough.”

“Oh, hush,” Pansy replied, blushing, “anyways, I’m fairly sure that she hates me still, so who cares.”

_Yes, you’ve _never _shagged anyone you had a contentious relationship with, _Daphne thought.

Pansy was distracted by something that appeared on her enchanted notebook, cursing excitedly(?) under her breath as she rose from the table.

“Shite, I’ve gotta run,” Pansy murmured, “the last of the spider-silk I was waiting on just arrived. I might fucking make this deadline yet!”

“Of course,” Daphne answered, genuinely unconcerned, rising from the table, “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

The two embraced – to an outside observer, it may have seemed like a typical hug between female friends, but the way that Pansy’s hand surreptitiously gripped Daphne’s arse would have removed _that _interpretation for anyone who was privy to see it.

“Absolutely,” Pansy smirked, “my _sweet_.”

Daphne blushed slightly, the pet name _still _affecting her, before waving her girlfriend away.

Sitting back down to return to her tea, she opened her own notebook, penning a message to her boyfriend:

_“I think that we should put Pansy in the middle tonight.”_

* * *

_Hey Tracey,_

_How are you? How’s Theo? Anything new and exciting out in the colonies?_

_I’m sorry that I haven’t been in touch lately, I’ve been busy with a commission that might very well put me on the map in a big way as an artist – no promises yet, but I’m optimistic._

_To cut to the chase, as it were, I’ve sent a Portkey along with this letter – it’s keyed to next weekend, so no rush on deciding, but I’d really like it if Theo and you could come for dinner at ‘Stori and Ronald’s house._

_I’ve got a bit of an announcement of my own, as it turns out – I’m seeing someone these days, and, well, I’d like to formally introduce them to you two._

_Let me know! And no questions, a girl has to keep the suspense somehow!_

_Love,_

_Daphne_

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a hell of a ride, and I'm thankful for everyone that's been with me on this journey!
> 
> This is the end of this particular installment - but there is DEFINITELY more to come from this trio.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who provided feedback on the last chapter - I've got a lot to think about, but I think it's pretty clear that any potential future additions to this relationship *deserve* to have just as much build-up, confusion, and smut dedicated to them as the trio has so far :P
> 
> I'd love to hear your feedback at the end of this installment, and another announcement:
> 
> I can't make any promises as to what I might get to, but I want to take a short break from writing in this universe, so hit me with your one-shot ideas, requests, or scenarios! If something interests me or catches my eye in some way, I might well use it as inspiration!


End file.
